


A Prince of Ice and Fire

by kingofstormandfire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), R plus L equals J, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 50,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofstormandfire/pseuds/kingofstormandfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The royalists win the Westeros Civil War two months following Robert's death at the Trident. Fifteen years later, Prince Jon Targaryen has been fostered at Winterfell since the age of five on the dying behest of his mother and is almost a distant memory in the eyes of the south. But as winter comes upon them, Jon and House Stark are forced into the ambitions, loves and treachery of the south as King Rhaegar and his entourage bring them into the fold of King's Landing. War creeps beneath their doorstep.</p><p>A tale of political intrigue, deceptions, betrayal, slow romance, love, loss, heartbreak, tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CHAPTER I

**Author's Note:**

> First section very similar to novel. I know, very lazy but I promise it'll be mostly different the story continues. Had to split this chapter into a half since it got too long. So this one will have Bran and Rhaegar POVs.
> 
> The history of this story is inspired by Our Choices Seal Our Fate by DolorousEdditor, though the story will be completely different.

**BRAN**

 

The morning was clear and cold, crisp and bracing. Bran and the rest of the company had set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty-three in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his lord father to see the king’s justice done. The year approached to the end of the ninth year of a summer, and it would only be a few months until Bran would turn eight. Close to manhood, closer to responsibility. 

The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a wildling. From everything a ran had heard about the men and women sworn to Mance Rayder, he had thought the man who would as tall as an oak tree - with hands as big as and a face as hard as stone. Cruel, middle-aged and lustful, as devilish as the ghouls and monsters in Old Nan's stories. 

But the man Bran saw bound to the holdfast wall seemed to look in his early twenties, scrawny and unkempt with dirty blonde hair and dark eyes that seemed inflicted with fear. He did not seem as much taller as Ser Jory, and Bran noticed his hands were shaking. The man was dressed in all black as ascertained for a brother of the Night's Watch, though his clothes were greasy and ragged. He was a deserter then. He was obviously not highborn, and seemed to have came from the villages of the Riverlands. 

The breath of man and horse mingled in the cold morning air as his father ordered the man cut down from the wall and dragged before them. On top of his horse, Bran was situated in between his eldest brother Robb and his cousin, Jon Targaryen, a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne after Prince Aegon. They both stood strong and silent on their shoulders, Robb the tallest of the two. A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banners of the Crown and the Lords of the North: the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen and the grey direwolf racing across the white field of House Stark.

"White walkers, white walkers." The ragged deserter kept muttering as his father's guardsmen led him to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. As Lord Eddard Stark dismounted from his horse, he peeled off his gloves and handed it to a nearby guard, warming his hands as he approached the deserter.

As the man was forced onto his knees, Bran's father looked down at him, his grey eyes cast with a grimness that aged him far greater than the white spots in his thick brown beard.

"Deserter, you have forsaken the vows you have sworn to the Night's Watch and have abandoned your post at Castle Black. You have dishonored your sworn brothers with this desertion, and must pay the price with your life. I am sorry, but you chose this fate inflicted upon yourself once you left the Wall. Do you have any final words?"

His father's voice was loud and authoritative as he spoke to the deserter, nothing at all like the quiet and thoughtful man who would sit with the children of Winterfell and speak softly of the old tales of the North.

The ragged man stirred in movement as he slowly looked up at Bran's father. His eyes seemed hollow and almost empty, as if he had seen something unspeakable.

As if he had truly seen a White Walker.

"My lord, I am sorry for what I have done. I have shamed myself, I shouldn't have left the castle. But I know what I saw. I saw them...I saw the dead arise as wights. I saw the Walkers...they killed my fellow brothers: Gared and Ser Royce. They'll kill you all too, if you don't stop them."

Bran felt the chill of the morning wrestle beneath his furs and under his skin as the silence rested between them. His lord father's brow was furrowed, his gaze expressionless. He did not seem angry...more exasperated if anything else. It was obvious to everyone present that Lord Eddard did not believe him. Bran turned his head slightly towards the rest of the men, who were looking to each other slightly with incredulous looks.

Jonos Dustin seemed to be trying hard not to smirk. Ser Barristan Selmy, decked in the white scaled armor of the Kingsguard, blue eyes were stained with muted emotion. Even Barristan the Bold could not accept his words.

The man continued to speak, "My lord, could you...could you get word to mi'family? They live in Lord Harroway's Town in the Riverlands. Could you tell them how I shamed them - that I'm sorry for what I've done."

There was a pregnant pause as Eddard Stark focused on the man's face for a long time. Finally, his father curtly nodded at the man and called for his sword. As the guardsmen  forced his head down onto the hard black wood, his ward Harrion Karstark brought forward the Valyrian greatsword "Ice". It was as wide as his father's hand and taller than even Robb, spell forged and darker than the blackest night. 

His father flexed his hands before taking the greatsword in both hands.

Holding it by the hilt, Eddard Stark leaned it against him as it touched cobbled square floor, pressing his nose against the pommel of the sword as he said, "In the name of King Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Lord Eddard Stark-"

As his father continued to speak, Jon moved his horse closer to him, "Keep that pony well in hand," His cousin whispered. "And don't look away. Your father will know if you do."

Bran kept his pony well in hand, and was determined to not look away.

"-I sentence you to death." And with that, Lord Eddard Stark raised his greatsword high above his head  took off the man’s head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting. Bran could not take his eyes off the blood. The snows around the stump drank it eagerly, reddening as he watched. The head bounced off a thick root and rolled near to Harry's feet. Harrion Karstark gave a toothy grin as he kicked it away, his long, large and muscular body providing an added weight to the kick's pressure. 

Jon shook his head at Harry's actions, and muttered something to himself. He put a hand on Bran’s shoulder, and Bran looked over at his cousin.

“You did well, Bran.” Jon told him, somberly. Jon was fourteen and despite his young age, Bran would already consider him an old hand of justice.

* * *

 

The ride back to Winterfell seemed colder and less hospitable. He did not know why he felt that way. The wind had died by then and the sun was higher in the sky; he should have been feeling better. So why didn't he? Bran rode by Robb, Jonos and Jon, ahead of the main party, his pony struggling to keep up. Almost twenty paces behind them, Ser Barristan Selmy rode ever vigilant of his charge. Bran did not see why the old knight bothered to remain close. No one would dare attack the Lord of Winterfell and his party, especially with a Kingsguard knight present.

The knight had been at Winterfell longer than the entirety of Bran's life, having been sent along with Jon to foster with his mother's family five years following the end of the civil war. He was a good man, and an excellent warrior. He was the man who had killed Maelys the Monstrous, the man who had rescued the Mad King from the clutches of the Darklyn rebels, who had saved the King during the Battle of the Trident from Robert Baratheon.

He was better with the sword than anyone in Winterfell, including Bran's father. Bran assumed he was better with the sword than anyone in the entire North. Despite the old age creeping slowly, Barristan remained as sharp and precise as a man in his early twenties, and was a dutiful protector of Jon. The people of Winterfell loved the old knight like he was there own blood, and Bran was sure he cared for them greatly too. 

As Bran turned back to his nearby riders, he heard Robb say, "The deserter died bravely. He had courage at least. Not easily as scared as the last one my father executed."

Robb was the heir to Winterfell and the future Lord of the North, once Lord Eddard passed away. He was tall and broad, with a stocky frame and seemed to be growing every day in strength and muscle. He favored his mother's house in appearance, resembling more of a Tully than a Stark with red-brown hair, blue eyes and fair skin. Bran supposed he was handsome as well, considering how often Jeyne Poole or one of the serving girls would comment on his brother's looks whenever he passed by them. He supposed it didn't really matter what they thought. Only the opinion of Alys Karstark mattered, considering that they were to be married when she turned ten-and-six. And while her brother Harrion was fostered at Winterfell, she still remained at Karhold with her father and elder brothers. 

"Just as you are with sums Stark, you are wrong," Prince Jon said, his voice echoing a tone more quiet than Robb. "It wasn't courage in his eyes. It was fear. Dead, sullen fear that shook him to the core. He was babbling nonsense, but he seemed to actually believe what he was saying. That makes him dangerous."

Jon’s eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little that they did not see. Jon contrasted Robb in almost every way. If one did not know better, they would assume at first glance that Jon was the heir to Winterfell and not a prince of the blood. He looked more Stark than Targaryen, black hair framing his long face and sharp cheekbones accentuating his facial features. While Robb was muscular and fair, Jon was slender and dark. Whereas Robb was strong and fast, Jon was graceful and quick - and a better dancer as well.  

Robb scowled. "Bugger off, Targaryen. He had courage. Did you see him properly? No way that man was scared. He had bravery in death, and I respect that even if he is a deserter."

Robb then turned in his saddle to look at Jonos, who was quietly looking vacantly in the distance. "Dustin, hey. What do you think? You agree with Jon or me?"

Jonos widened his eyes and rubbed his face with a spare hand tiredly as he inclined his head slowly towards Robb. "Sorry, Robb. Did you say something? All I heard was you blabbing on again."

Bran and Jon chuckled to themselves as Robb's face flushed. "About the deserter. Whether he was brave or he was afraid." His brother reminded their friend.

The son of Lord Willam Dustin thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders, his brown hair blowing with the breeze.

"Meh, a deserter is a deserter. I see no difference to it if the emotions of being brave, afraid, stupid or ignorant clouded his final moments. Does it matter what his reasons we're for running off? Even if he really did see a White Walker or munchkins or witches beyond the Wall and it scared him to death, it was his fault for not warning his fellow brothers. He was ultimately being selfish."

Robb frowned at his twelve year old friend. "That's a narrow minded perspective."

"Narrow-minded yes. Is it wrong? I don't think so," Jonos shook some of the morning snow off his furs and pointed ahead. "Enough of this, let's think now of how I'm going to best the heir to Wintefell and the winged-wolf prince in a race to the bridge?"

Robb grabbed his reigns. "You are on, little Dustin*. Jon, Jonos, last one to the bridge has to help Old Bessy in the kitchens tonight for preparation of dinner."

"Done." Prince Jon kicked his horse forward before any of them could blink and galloped ahead.

Jonos cursed. "Damn it Jon. Hah!" He spurred his horse forward and went after him.

Robb looked at Bran and smiled apologetically, "Sorry little brother - I have to win this." And with that, Robb followed them, laughing and hooting as he went to catch up with them.

Bran watched them go. He wanted desperately to go after them, but his pony would not be able to catch up. It didn't matter if he joined anyway - Robb would probably win. He was the better horse-rider out of all of them - including Jon, Jonos and Harrion. Well, maybe Arya could best him. He could hear Robb laughing and hooting, Jonos yelling out and Jon, silent and intent. Bran could not focus. He had seen the ragged man’s eyes, and he was thinking of them now.

He did not notice at first when Ser Barristan rode up beside him, and was startled in his seat when the knight patted him on the back. He was smiling at him, his blue eyes eerily dark and iridescent. Bran looked up and swallowed, trying not to feel nervous as he the knight said to him,

"Gods, those boys are always racing. I would hope they would consider me in their thoughts when they compete, but no. I hope my momentary lax of responsibility won't our prince killed. By his own merits or of someone else."

And with that, the knight nodded to Bran in farewell as he took hold of his horse and bounded after the three racing boys.  After a while, the sound of Robb’s laughter receded, and the woods grew silent again

Ser Barristan Selmy took his role as Jon's protector very seriously.  _No one will attack the Lord of Winterfell's company. Not even a maiden naked as her nameday would be touched by bandits as long as Lord Eddard Stark was Warden of the North._ Bran wished he could have told Ser Barristan this, confidently and as astute as Robb or Jon. But all he could say was made null and void as he tongue was twisted into tightened knots.

Ser Barristan Selmy had been a constant presence in Bran's life ever since the day he had been born. He had helped train Bran along with Ser Rodrik, had told him stories of his days and nights during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, of unseating Prince Duncan at a tourney, of helping destroy the Kingswood Brotherhood all those years ago with the Sword of the Morning and his other Kingsguard knights. He had saved King Rhaegar during the Greyjoy Rebellion and had slew Maron Greyjoy himself. He had even put the first wooden sword Bran had ever used in the young Stark's hand.

But still, Bran could not muster enough confidence to have a proper conversation with him. It should been so easy, but his responses to all the knight's questions were always still and courteous. Arya always mocked him for acting like a fool around the knight.  _Stupid, if you want him to take you on as a squire, then ask him. He's not going to bite you._ She would wack him in the head with her spoon each time the knight exchanged greetings with him at breakfast or dinner. 

_I have to be more confident. I am a Stark of Winterfell. A son of Lord Eddard Stark. If I can't even talk to a hero, then how can I expect to be given responsibility as a future Lord?_

So lost in his musings that he never heard the rest of the party until his father moved up to ride beside him.

Lord Eddard looked to the distance and said, "Well, thank gods Ser Barristan is riding with them. Who knows what type of trouble my son, nephew and ward will be getting themselves into. Those boys and their competitive spirits."

His father looked down at Bran. “Are you well, Bran?” he asked, not unkindly. "Is something bothering you?"

“Yes, Father,” Bran told him. He looked up. Wrapped in his furs and leathers, mounted on his great warhorse, his lord father loomed over him like a giant.

“I was just thinking about that deserter...the one you executed. Robb, Jon and Jonos were on the brink of an argument about it. Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid. Jonos didn't think it mattered. I can't decide which one was right or wrong. ”

“What do you think?” his father asked.

Bran thought about it. “Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“That is the only time a man can be brave,” his father told him. "His ramblings about the White Walkers...I do not believe he was telling the truth, but he sure seemed to have faith in his words."

Ned put a hand on Bran's shoulder. “Do you understand why I did it?”

"He was a deserter. An oathbreaker to the Night's Watch."

"Aye, and no man is more dangerous," His father nodded solemnly. "The deserter knows his life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime, no matter how vile. But you mistake me. The question was not why the man had to die, but why I must do it."

Bran remembered Jon telling Arya once the answer to this question when she had been curious enough to broach the topic. "It's the Old Way of the Starks."

His father seemed pleased by his answer, "Aye, good. The blood of the First Men flows through the veins of House Stark. King Rhaegar uses a headsman, but we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die. A ruler must not forget what death is." 

That was when Jon reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and shouted down at them. “Uncle, Bran, come quickly, see what Robb has found!” Then he was gone again.

Jory rode up beside them. “Trouble, my lord?”

“Beyond a doubt,” his lord father said. “Come, let us see what mischief they have rooted out now.” He sent his horse into a trot. Jory and Bran and the rest came after.

They found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside him. Ser Barristan had dismounted and Jonos was almost kneeling by the river, his hair tangled and unbridled. Robb stood knee-deep in the summer snow beside the river, his hood pulled back so the sun shone in his auburn hair. He was cradling something in his arm, while the boys talked in hushed, excited voices. Barristan Selmy seemed to be smiling at whatever Robb held in his arms. 

The riders picked their way carefully through the drifts, groping for solid footing on the hidden, uneven ground. Jory Cassel and Harrion were the first to reach the boys. Harrion was laughing when the breath blew out of him. “Gods!” he exclaimed, struggling to keep control of his horse as he reached for his sword.

Jory’s sword was already out. “Robb, get away from it!” he called as his horse reared under him.

Robb grinned and looked up from the bundle in his arms. “She can’t hurt you.” he said.

“She’s dead, Jory,” Barristan said to his father's household guard captain, pushing his white hair away from eyes. "I made sure to check myself."

Bran was afire with curiosity by then. He would have spurred the pony faster, but his father made them dismount beside the bridge and approach on foot. Bran jumped off and ran. 

By then Jon, Jory, and Harrion had all dismounted as well.

“By the old gods, its that a bloody wolf? She's a freak!" Harrion exclaimed in what Bran measured as excitement. 

"No, it's a direwolf," Jon said calmly. "Look at the size of her. No wolf could be that big." 

Bran’s heart was thumping in his chest as he pushed through a waist-high drift to his cousin's side. It was indeed huge, covered in bloodstained snow. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, its eyes crawling with maggots, with a a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth.

Jon was right. It had to be a direwolf. The size of it...it was bigger than his pony, and made him gasp softly. 

"No way, Jon. There hasn't been a direwolf sighted south in the Wall for almost two hundred years." Harry reasoned. 

"Well Harry, I see one now." Jon replied.  

 Bran tore his eyes away from the monster and he saw what was the bundle in Robb's arms. He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of greyblack fur, its eyes still closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb’s chest as he cradled it, making a sad little whimper sound. Bran reached out hesitantly.

“Go on,” Robb told him. “You can touch him.”

Bran gave the pup a quick nervous stroke, then turned as Jonos said, “Here you go.” His twelve-year old friend put a second pup into his arms. “There are five of them.” 

Bran sat down in the snow and hugged the wolf pup to his face. Its fur was soft and warm against his cheek.

“Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years,” muttered Hullen, the master of horse. “I like it not.”

"Do you like anything, Hull?" Harry asked, grinning to himself. "I don't think anyone is surprised that you fear this."

"It's a sign," Jonos said, stroking the fur of the pup in Robb's arm. "A direwolf south of the Wall. This is a sign of something coming."

Father frowned at his ward. “This is only a dead animal, Jonos. Not a sign or premonition.” he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched under his boots as he moved around the body, examining the wolf. 

"Lord Stark, it seems as if there is something in the throat. It might be an antler, or a shattered teeth of a lizard-lion, I have no clue." Ser Barristan offered, his hand resting on his longsword. He seemed a little uneasy at the sight of the dead direwolf. Bran did not think anything could unfazed the legendary knight.

“Born with the dead,” Jonos said, his voice slightly shaking. “My father always said that meant the worst of luck.”

“No matter, young Dustin,” said Hullen. “The pups be dead soon enough too.”

Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay.

“The sooner the better,” Harry agreed. He drew his sword. “Give the beast here, Bran.”

The little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood. “No!” Bran cried out fiercely. “It’s mine.”

“Put your sword away, Karstark." Robb commanded, his voice resolved and strong.

"I take orders from your father, Robb, not you." Harrion returned back, his nose twitching with frustration.

“It be a mercy to kill them,” Hullen tried to tell Bran, but he would not listen. He would not. 

Noticing that Ser Barristan was only quietly observing the stand-off, Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow.

“Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation.”

“No!” He could feel tears welling in his eyes. He did not want to cry in front of everyone, especially Ser Barristan and his father. Bran looked away as Robb tried to resist.

"Father, Ser Rodrik’s red bitch whelped again last week,” he said. “It was a small litter, only two live pups. She’ll have milk enough.”

“She’ll rip them apart when they try to nurse.” His father returned, his fingers resting on the knife pressed against his waist-belt.

"Lord Stark," Jon said. It was strange to hear him call his uncle like that, so formal. Bran looked at his cousin with desperate hope. “There are five pups,” he told his uncle. “Three male, two female.”

“What of it, Jon?”

“You have five children, my lord,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. It has graced the banners of House Stark since Bran the Builder. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. It is as Ser Jory said: it is a sign. Yet I don't think it is a bad one.”

Bran saw his lord father's face change, saw the other men exchange glances and saw Ser Barristan give Jon a wide smile. As a Prince and a favored nephew of Lord Eddard Stark, Jon's word carried great meaning and strength behind them. Bran had never loved Jon more than at this moment. The count only worked because Jon had excluded himself. Even though Jon was viewed as a fourth son of Lord Eddard at Winterfell, he was not. He was a Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and his love for Lyanna Stark. A love that had cost the kingdom many deaths, a love that was not forgotten nor forgiven by many houses, Bran knew. Being a Prince should have been so grand and wonderful, a distinction treasured and kept by a person that granted them a place above so many other people.

But for Jon, it did not give him that satisfaction. Everyone present knew that Jon would give away his title and place as Prince of the Seven Kingdoms to be a true Stark of Winterfell. 

"My lord," Ser Barristan stepped forward, looking at Jon proudly. "What the Prince says is true. And I think you see it too, Ned. These wolves are meant to be apart of your family. Whether it by the old gods or the new, this shouldn't be ignored."

"Yeah, of course Barristan would support Jon's opinion. Where was he when Robb and Bran were pleading?" One of his father's men whispered to another in a low voice, though it was not low enough.

"Silence," Eddard Stark commanded, looking between Jon, Barristan, and Bran thoughtfully. "Jon, you do not want a pup as well?"

"I am not a Stark." Simple words, yet they had an effect that no pleas from Robb or Bran could make. 

For a long time, Lord Eddard regarded Jon thoughtfully. After seemingly weighing the decision in his mind, Bran almost shrieked in delight when he finally sighed, "I will not have you waste the servants time with this. You will train themselves, you will feed themselves, and if they die, you'll bury them yourselves. These are not dogs...and gods help you if you neglect them. Do you understand what I am saying?"

 "Yes, father." Both Robb and Bran said simultaneously. The pup in his arm squirmed in his grasp, as if anticipating the impending victory itself. 

"Fine," Lord Eddard Stark cracked his knuckles. "Keep them then. Jonos, Harrion, Jory, help gather the other pups. We should head back to Winterfell."

"Thank gods. I can stand another minute in this forest anyway." Jonos muttered to himself.

It was not until they were mounted and on their way that Bran allowed himself to taste the sweet air of victory. By then, his pup was snuggled inside his leathers, warm against him, safe for the long ride home. Bran was wondering what to name him.

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly. “What is it, Jon?” Lord Eddard  asked.

“Can’t you hear it?” Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel.

A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling. “He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. “Or been driven away,” Bran's father said, looking at the sixth pup.

His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as blood. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind. 

"That wolf is more Targaryen-looking than you." Robb exclaimed. 

"An albino." Jon grinned as he moved up beside them, "And that suits me just fine."

 

 

* * *

 

 

**RHAEGAR**

"You're Grace, it is present from these financial records that the Crown has a surplus of almost five thousand gold dragons. Although that is excellent in the short term, if we do not invest this money into the kingdom on some benefit, then it will be of excess in the treasury and of waste in the long term."

Rhaegar's master of coin spoke diligently to him. Kevan Lannister placed the scrolls down on the table and sat down in his chair, directly to the right of him. 

Rhaegar nodded at his wife's uncle, smiling slightly. If he was being completely honest with himself, whenever Kevan spoke regarding finances it would almost put Rhaegar to sleep.

It was not as if the man was boring himself. No, the old Lannister knight was a shrewd and more amicable person to converse with than his older brother Tywin. The Great Lion's shadow, people called See Kevan. Ever present and loyal to House Lannister, and now directly to the Crown. No, the repetitive nature of the finances of the Seven Kingdoms was what bored him.

His father had left a treasury overflowing with gold following his death, and despite the sheer amount of gold than that been needed for the recovery of Riverlands, the crownlands and the Stormlands, the Crown had been able to keep quite a lot of their stocks of gold secure from the reparations paid from the rebellion.

Over his fifteen year reign, Rhaegar had made sure to keep expenses low as to not rely on external finances. Of course, loans from the Iron Bank were needed in some cases, but Rhaegar had always striven to never borrow from his vassals. Especially not from his third wife's family. He did not want to give the Lannisters more leverage over the Crown then they already had. 

"Of course, Ser Kevan you are right," Rhaegar said, nodding to him. "What would you recommend we do with the extra coin?"

"Invest it into the trade post in the harbour. Expand it for more trading zones as so to increase incentive for more trade between the eastern continent and Westeros," Kevan responded to his question, "Or, you could begin a restoration of Flea Bottom to improve living standards and increase the influx of smallfolk in King's Landing."

"Please," Jon Connington, his friend and Lord of Griffin's Roost, scoffed. "This stinking city already has already too many commoners plying their trade and killing each other. The City Watch is having difficulty as it is keeping order, and with all the increases in violence since the incident...well, it would seem better if the Crown invests somewhere else. Maybe rebuilding Harrenhal or Summerhall?"

 _As tactful as always,_ Rhaegar thought of his friend. Lord Jon was the Master of Laws of his small council and was not shy of voicing his opinions on matters that did not come under his jurisdiction. 

"Thank you, Ser Kevan and Lord Jon, for your suggestions. I will absolutely take them into consideration and have my decision on the matter ready by tomorrow during the next convened meeting. This is an issue that will take time to measure before deciding upon a decision. We do not want to rush it," Rhaegar felt the muscle in his jaw set as he nodded at his Master of Whisperers.

"Lord Varys, have your little birds found something of interest that need to be brought to the council's attention? Anything from King's Landing or the rest of the Seven Kingdoms?"  

The eunuch patted down his purple robes as he straightened himself in his chair, his powdered face displaying a sly smile. "Nothing of major consequence, my King. Most of what my birds tell me of are of minor and trivial nature. Lord Morrigen is hosting a tourney in his holdfast for his son's fourteenth name day, some men were drowned by Lord Balon for raping and murdering a minor Ironborn lords daughter, Lord Jason Mallisters is rebuilding a settlement east of Seagard destroying during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Nothing that would matter to the Crown."

Jon Arryn, his Hand for almost seven years, almost splurged his wine when Varys finished speaking. He sat at Rhaegar's right, so the King pulled his arm away in case the old lord spilled the goblet. "I am sorry, eunuch, but did you say that the punishment of the rape and murder of a lord's daughter was a trivial matter? Even if she is Ironborn, that should not go unnoticed."

"The rape and murder of lord's daughter is not something to be made a light of as a simple matter." Pycelle, the Grand Maester of the Iron Throne, said in his whizened voice.

 _That's what Lord Arryn said._ Rhaegar thought. 

Varys inclined his head towards the Lord of the Vale, "My lord, I doubt even Lord Balon himself thought of it as a major issue. I am surprised that you are taking it this way. The men had been executed; there is nothing more to be done."

Jon Arryn shot the eunuch a measured look of distrust. They did not like each other, his Hand of the King and the eunuch. Then again, neither did anyone on the council truly like or trust Varys either. Jon Connington was indifferent, Kevan only conversed with him when it related to issues surrounding his position, Lord Paxter Redwyne flat out hated Varys and Rhaegar...well, Rhaegar didn't know how to feel about the man.

He had served his father faithfully, and had assisted him in dethroning his father after the Trident, but he had always had a glint in his luminous eyes that Rhaegar never fully liked. The only reason why Rhaegar kept him on was because he was excellent at his job. 

"Enough," Rhaegar waved his hand in the air in a dispersive manner, "I will not have infighting on my council. The death of a lord's child no manner how powerful they are should not be ignored. Bear in mind that we must set an example for Theon when he inherits the Iron Islands one day. I say we send a letter to this lord with our express sympathies and offers of assistance if need be. That would be a good way to ingratiate ourselves more favour with the Ironborn."

"The daughter was of House Oakenfist, a house sworn to the Greyjoys in Old Wyk," Varys told him. "I will send a letter on behalf of your grace."

"Good," Rhaegar yawned aloud and placed his hands over his mouth. It had been a long day at court before this council, and he was eager to rest after he discussed the final matter of the council meeting. "Since Lord Paxter is still at the Arbor dealing with the theft of his wine and Arthur is with my son in the city, does anyone have anything else to broach to the council?"

His councilmen were wise to shake their head seven if they did have other issues to bring up. It could wait until tomorrow. 

"Good. Let us now talk about the journey to Winterfell." Rhaegar reached and out and plucked a grape from the large assortment of plates on the table. As he popped it into his mouth and chewed, several of his council glanced at each other uneasily. 

Kevan was the first to speak, "Your Grace, are you sure the visit to Winterfell is wise? I know you announced it to the court yesterday, but it is not too late to cancel the-"

"-nonsense, Lannister," Jon Connington interrupted. "The King hasn't seen his son in almost ten years. It's about time we brought Prince Jon back to King's Landing. He's stayed with the Northmen for too long."

Rhaegar did not appreciate the tone that Jon had used for that last sentence. Lyanna had asked of him in her letter to foster Jon with her brother, and it had been to all he could do to honor her memory. He wasn't close with the Starks nor would he ever be, but he had done as she asked. _I have no regrets regarding my decision. Anything for her._

Jon Connington had been one of the many vocal critics of his leniency towards the rebels. Many whispered that he had been too soft on the rebels, especially House Stark out of his love for Lyanna. After everything they had lost over his elopement with Lya, he could not afford to hurt them further. Lya would have hated him if he had. 

Rhaegar had taken Benjen Stark, Renly Baratheon, Edmure Tully and Jon's son Ronnel as wards of the Crown, had selected Ashara as his cousin Stannis' wife, and had demanded a hefty reparation from the rebelling lords to be paid over a course of twenty years, but that had been the extremity of his punishment. Rhaegar had promised the rebels the retainment of their titles they helped him overthrew Aerys, and they had. 

If he had ultimately had absolute power over the situation, he wouldn't have taken any hostages at all. Benjen had left following the Greyjoy Rebellion to join the Night's Watch, Edmure was in Riverrun with his lord father, Renly was in Dorne visiting Viserys, and Ronnel would have lived in the Capitol anyway. 

He understood why some people whispered of his weakness behind his back. Perhaps he had been soft in his judgement of the rebels. His father would have killed them all along with their wives and children, and laughed as they burned in front of him. But he was not his father. 

Wearing the crown of Aegon V, Rhaegar bit his tongue to avoid speaking as Kevan responded to Jon, "I am not saying the King cannot visit his son. The King can do whatever he likes. It is a good decision to determine and see what type of the man the North has shaped Prince Jon to be. But I am worried about the scale of the escort and party that the King is planning to bring with him. Almost the entire court! How much money it will cost, the amount of guards this will be need to escort all the way to Winterfell, the length of the journey. We have the monies to fund this journey there and back again, but it will be an unnecessary waste."

Jon Arryn agreed, "Your Grace, as much as it saddens me to say, but I have to agree with Ser Kevan. I consider Ned to be my second son, and I count myself fortunate to know him. And in that, I know that he would not be able to feed the entire court of King's Landing at Winterfell without have to oust out almost all those that live in his castle. With the reparations and increased tax...ah, it is hard to generate sufficient income in the North for that amount of people to be fed and sheltered and looked after for a month."

"Fine!" Rhaegar declared. "I will scale down the amount of people that will come with us. I wanted Jon and the Starks to see how much I held them in regard even after all this years of limited contact, but it seems like my council had dissuaded me. However, certain people will need to be accompany us. Most importantly, Aegon, Rhaenys, Daenerys, Visenya and Aenar must be present at Winterfell with me along with Theon, the Tyrell siblings, your son Ronnel, and all my Kingsguard." 

"As well as the queen." Kevan said.

"...yes, as well as Queen Cersei." The absence of his wife from those names had not been unintentional. Rhaegar found it ironic that though Cersei had provided him his Visenya, he did not love her nearly as half as much as he had Lyanna.

Jon was trying to suppress a grin. He hated Cersei, but then again he had disliked Elia and Lya too. 

Jon Arryn took hold of his papers. "My King, as Lord Connington, Kevan and I will not be able to make the journey to Winterfell, we will begin to make preparations straight away. We will have a report readied for you on the expenses and outcomes needs to be fulfilled upon marking the journey."

"Good," Rhaegar said, "Lord Arryn, you are a second father to Lord Eddard. I feel like if I wrote the letter to him, I would insult him in some way. I do not know my Warden of the North as I would like. I would like for you to compose and send the letter to Winterfell regarding our impending journey. Lord Stark should be warned. We do not want to spring it on him half way through our journey do we?"

Jon chucked. "No we do not. And I would be quite happy to do so, your grace."

"Then so it is. Until tomorrow, our council is adjourned. I look forward to the months to come." And with that, Rhaegar prodded himself up with both hands on his chair and stood from his seat. The councilmen each left after gathering their belongings and shuffled out of the room with courteous farewells. Varys looked at him for a long time before exiting the room with a respectful bow.

 

* * *

 

As Grand Maester Pycelle dawdled slowly out of the room, only his friend Jon remained behind. Rhaegar was about to say something about his prescence when it suddenly struck him again. Rhaegar turned around as the door to the room closed with a thud and breathed in deep, holding his hand to his chest as he felt his head throb with a headache. He was struggling to breath. Their it was again. The wound that he thought that had healed afflicting him like it had been for the past fifteen years. Only now, the pain was becoming more frequent, and worse.

It was the last token of hate Robert Baratheon had given him, he could almost heard the Storm Lord laugh at his pain in the after life, a large, bellowing and thunderous noise emitting from his mouth.

As Rhaegar opened and closed his eyes, Jon had already left from his chair and was by his side, holding him by the shoulders and against him.

"Rhaegar, Rhaegar, gods, are you alright?" Rhaegar looked down and saw Jon's worried expression. 

"I'm fine, my friend. It just came sporadically. Just like the other times it has. Thank gods Aegon, Rhaenys or any of my family were not here to see it." Rhaegar pushed himself away from Jon and sank back into his chair, raising his head towards the ceiling as his composure fell back to normal. 

Jon frowned. "Please, as your friend, I beg you to go see Pycelle about this. The milk of the poppy is clearly not solving this issue, and too much will kill you. You _will_ die."

"You don't think I know this, Jon?" Rhaegar tightened his hands into a fist, watching his pale knuckles. "I am not going to die, my work is not done yet. Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya still need to be guided towards their legacy as saviors of this realm."

As expected, his friend groaned. "Gods, Rhaegar. Enough with your prophecies. This song of ice and fire is just a myth. Arthur does not believe, your mother nor Elia or Lyanna believed either. What will it take for you to give up on these foolish fantasies?"

"They are not foolish!" Rhaegar replied firmly, his voice louder than he had intended. "They are not.  _The dragon must have three heads._ And they do. They now do. You just do not understand. No one can. I know - it makes me sound mad - but my children will be important to the salvation of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon and Aenar too will support the new order established by the three."

Realizing that Jon still remained unconvinced, Rhaegar decided to change the subject, "Why did you remain behind? Do you need something?"

"No," Jon eyed him slightly waveringly. "I just wanted to see if you were alright. You looked a little anxious during the meeting. I thought something serious was bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me." _Don't lie to yourself Rhaegar._ The idea of seeing Jon again...of seeing the child that he and Lyanna had made together fifteen years ago. The son he barely knew, the son he felt ~~-~~ ~~~~

_No, I will not think like that._

"You may not think so," Jon said, squeezing Rhaegar's shoulder with his hand before turning to leave, "But something clearly is."

* * *

Rhaegar walked absentmindedly back to his chambers, nodding to each person that bowed their head to him. Behind him, Ser Kenneth watched him like a lion stalking its prey. The pain still remained within him as he walked, though it was getting better. That was how it always was though. It was begin, run its course then end gradually before reappearing a month or two later. He had never heard of such a thing before, and he did not know what he had done to cause it. 

_Is it a punishment from the seven hells themselves. For my sins? For my failure? From Lyanna?_

He had just come back from talking to his steward, asking about where his children were. He already knew that Arthur was protecting Aegon as his eldest son was having his sword repaired by the blacksmith in the city. He could trust Arthur to make sure that that was the _only_ thing his son did. He did not want to find him coming back to the Red Keep with a blackened eye, incurred after fighting a brash and bold ale house worker who did not recognise that the man who had been sleeping with his sister was the Crown Prince.

His daughter Rhaenys was with her ladies-in-waiting insulting his wife under thinly veiled whispers, Visenya was with her tutor being instructed on how to write and speak High Valyrian and Aenar was with his uncle Jaime learning how to to use a sword. His little sister was in her rooms writing a letter to Jon. He did not wish to disturb her in doing that. 

Out of everyone, Dany had kept a close correspondence with Jon over letters. They hardly knew each other in person, but over the letters Rhaegar had read, they seemed to have found a friendship over Raven. 

It was a slow and arduous process, but Daenerys was determined to foster a connection with her nephew. For that, Rhaegar loved her deeply. Aegon only occasionally sent letters to Jon.

Under the influence of their mother, Visenya and Aenar rarely attempted to write to Jon. Rhaenys...she disliked Jon and the only letter she had ever sent him had been cold and indifferent. Rhaegar was ashamed to know this as Pycelle always gave him their letters to read before he sent them to Winterfell.

She disliked him for what she perceived as an insult to her mother - his very existence.  It was of similar reason she hated Cersei, though that he could understand. To her, she had taken the place of Elia by force. Rhaegar had only married Cersei to ensure political stability in the realm. He did not love Cersei.  He could never love Cersei. No one could feel the hole that Lyanna had left behind. Rhaenys still did not seem to understand that. He still had nightmares of what Aerys had done to her that night, her screams echoing through King's Landing as he burnt her alive.  

His wife...to her children she was warm and comforting. Nurturing and kind to in her on way. To Rhaegar, she was courteous, affectionate and willing to please. To everyone else -

 _I shouldn't think about my wife like that. She is the mother of my two beloved children._ Rhaegar brushed away his thoughts as he came to his door. Ser Oswell Whent, his good friend and a supporter of his claim since the very beginning, stood watch in front of the door. Oswell was a tall and powerfully built man with thick curly dark hair that fell to his shoulders, fair skin and dark brown eyes. He wore a slightly bored expression as Rhaegar approached, and as he noticed him appear from the corner of the hallway, Oswell grinned at his King.

" _Else strata ulsanse kulis,_ King Rhaegar," Oswell bowed to a surprised Rhaegar. "I hope your day has been well."  _Greetings to my humble majesty." I didn't even think that he knew what Valyrian was let alone speak it._

"Oswell, that was surprisingly accurate High Valyrian," Rhaegar said, his lilac eyes widened. "I see my daughter's lessons have been going well." "

"Not only are they going well, your daughter is the _one teaching_ me, your grace. Bloody hell, that one is a fast learner. I don't think she even needs a tutor - give her a book of words and a quill and paper and she'll be reciting all Valyrian dialects to the small folk in no time."

Oswell turned to Kenneth, and said, "Try to guess this one: _gestau hellastom aggrega ultima*."_

Ser Kenneth groaned beside him. "You're grace, I'm a bit slow on my Valyrian. Would you mind telling me what my sworn brother is trying to tell me?"

Rhaegar smiled, "He said 'chin up and smile you overgrown slug.'" 

Oswell gaped. "You're Grace, damn it, did I mess up the language again? The princess will be disappointed in me. What I meant to you was you enormous -"

"Overgrown slug?" Kenneth repeated, his face reddening. "Unsheathe your sword, Oswell, and we'll see who truly is the overgrown slug, you little bat shit."

"Enough, enough," Rhaegar found the rivalry between the serious Kenneth and the cheerful Oswell amusing. "Settle it in the training yards, preferably when I am not busy. If Oswell is here, then that means my daughter is awaiting me inside."

"Damn if I ever if I am not just the biggest disappointment in the world. The princess wished to surprise you. I suppose now my ever Presence is a very spoiler," Oswell chuckled. "She's excited to see you, Rhaegar. Me and Ser Slug will be outside if you need anything."

"Do not push yourself, Whent. When I beat you black and blue, we'll see who has the last laugh" Kenneth had a faint smile on his face as he took a position next to the edge of the door.

Rhaegar shook his head at their idiocy as Oswell retook his standing, and opened the door to his chambers. He thanked the gods that they were fierce warriors and excellent protectors, because if they were not, they would probably continue arguing and bickering till twilight dawned. 

Upon entering his rooms, he didn't even have the time to take in his surroundings when he saw a flash of silver and yellow bound two leaps towards him, colliding into him and knocking some of the breath out of him. 

"Papa!" His little Visenya cried, wrapping her pale arms firmly around waist. "Look what I wrote during my lesson with tutor Landist." 

Visenya untangled herself from him before he had the chance to speak and went to his bed, grabbing parchment and running back to him. She then stood right in front of him and stretched her hand out in front of him, waiting for Rhaegar to take it. His daughter...one of the two things he did not regret to have come out of his marriage with Cersei, the other being Aenar. Visenya looked a perfect amalgamation of Lannister and Targaryen - her silver-blonde more gold than silver and her eyes bright and lilac. She was incredibly slender and pale, very pretty, and wore a yellow silk dress underscored with a belled skirt. 

Rhaegar loved his daughter, and she loved him too. Aenar and her were probably the only children he had who loved him unconditionally. Who did not fully understand the mistakes he had made in the past nor had seen him at his lowest low.  

"My little Visenya. The third dragon," Rhaegar took the parchment and looked over it. "Let's see - an entire passage of words written in High Valyrian. My, my, my, you are certainly learning the tongue of our forefathers. What did you write about?"

Visenya rolled her eyes playfully. "It's not just words on a paper, papa."

His daughter cocked her head sideways and said in a loud and fast voice, "Ser Oswell, didn't you tell him about the letter?"

Rhaegar turned his head and saw Oswell leaning against the frame of the door, "Forgive me, Princess Visenya, because I could barely understand a word you were saying before your father arrived. You speak too fast. It's exhausting just trying to comprehend what you are saying."

Visenya shook her head in mock disappointment, her lips pursed as she said, "It's a letter to Jon. Tutor Landist asked me to write a letter in Valyrian to the person I wanted to speak to the most and I chose Jon. I really want to see him. To talk to him about his adventures in the North."

Rhaegar froze, gripping the parchment in his hand far more tightly than he should. _Jon, my son. I thought Cersei had dissuaded her from thinking about him?_ That had been the impression he had received whenever Cersei was present in the room with Visenya. As Rhaegar looked at the letter, he could see that his daughter was being sincere. He had been wrong in that regard. Perhaps she did nurture some sentiment towards her half-brother. 

"Jon is nice in his letters, and Dany and Egg have nothing but kind things to say about him. Rhae doesn't like him, but she doesn't like anyone besides Egg, Dany, Aenar and me. I just want to meet this brother of mine."

_That's right. She has never seen Jon. She was born a year after he left. When we arrive in Winterfell, it will be the first Jon will ever have seen Visenya and Aenar in person._

"That's...incredible Visenya. And you know what?" Rhaegar pulled his daughter close and tucked her head underneath his chin. "You can give this letter to him yourself, for we are going to see him very soon."

 

* * *

 

1\. Lord Willam Dustin survived the civil war and has three children with his wife, Lady Barbrey Ryswell: Ryella Dustin (thirteen), Jonos Dustin (his heir - twelve) and Rickard  Dustin (seven). Ethan Glover, Theo Wull and Mark Ryswell also survived the civil war, though Martyn Cassel did not.

2\. Rhaegar (39) has altogether five children (in order of age): Rhaenys (18), Aegon (16), Jon (14), Visenya (8), Aenar (5). He is married to Cersei Lannister (32), his third wife. Jon is considered legitimate based on Rhaegar's word and decree. The Faith of the Seven grudgingly have accepted Lyanna Stark's marriage to Rhaegar, though this serves as a contention between the Faith and Rhaegar.   

3\. Westeros Civil War (alternate Robert's Rebellion) ended with the decisive defeat at Riverrun in 283 AC two months following Robert's demise at the Trident. The rebels were promised pardons if they helped Rhaegar overthrow Aerys which they reluctantly agreed to do to the detriment of many of their respective loyal bannermen and marched with Rhaegar to King's Landing. Aerys, who realized his son betrayed him, ordered the executions of Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys. Elia was initially being burnt alive by Aerys until Jaime Lannister betrayed his King and granted her a mercy-killing by stabbing her through the heart. He then killed Aerys, Rossart and all those present who were still loyal to Aerys and waited with Aegon and a terrifed Rhaenys for Rhaegar to break through the doors.

Ultimately, Rhaegar pardoned Jaime after he was informed of what happened. After formally pardoning Eddard Stark, Hoster Tully, Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon in absentia, he received a letter from Arthur Dayne that Lyanna had died at the Tower of Joy and that she had given birth to a son named Jon. A grief-stricken Rhaegar took Ned with him to Dorne to retrieve Lyanna's body. 

Lyanna, in her dying moments, had written a letter expressing two things: to be buried in the crypts of Winterfell and for Jon to be fostered at Winterfell away from King's Landing. Rhaegar had fulfilled the two by the time of the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Every house who had participated in the rebellion were forced to pay reparations to the Crown over a set period of time, though the term was relatively small in comparison to what many had expected. In addition, Benjen Stark, Edmure Tully, Renly Baratheon and Ronnel Arryn (born 290 AC) were taken as wards of the Iron Throne, though Benjen, Edmure and Renly left King's Landing with Rhaegar's permission to fulfill their own endeavors. 

4\. Stannis Baratheon was praised by Rhaegar for his holding of Storm's End throughout the entirety of the civil war, and was allowed to keep Storm's End and Lordship of the Stormlands. However, as he was unmarried, Rhaegar selected Ashara Dayne as his bride, who had recently given birth to a healthy bastard daughter named Allyria. This was done as a favor to his friend Ser Arthur Dayne.  Stannis had three children with Ashara: Shireen Baratheon (285 AC), Edric Baratheon (287 AC) and Harlan Baratheon (290 AC). 


	2. CHAPTER II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned finds about the visit, Dany and Rhaenys talk, Jon thinks about his life in Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late post. University is killing me right now as well as RL. Hope you enjoy this chapter. I made it long to make up for my tardiness.

**NED**

_I saw them._ The deserter had mumbled in a hollow voice _. I saw the White Walkers._

As he carefully wiped the oilcloth down the ancestral Valyrian greatsword, Eddard Stark inspected Ice and was pleased to see that the blade was finally becoming clean. Of course, some of the blood of the deserter still remained on his family’s sword, but most of the smudges of red that had claimed itself to the weapon were gone as Ned ran the cloth down the length of Ice.

The godswood which he was present in right now was a different sort of wood than most that were kept groomed in the North, or the few remaining in the south. It was a dark, mysterious and primal place that remained untouched despite the countless wars and battles that had been fought outside the glooming castle of Winterfell. It was a wood as old as the realm itself, assorted with sentinel trees, of mighty oaks and ancient ironwoods twisted branches woven together underneath a dense canopy as misshapen trunks of black crowded close together within unbridled roots.

The godswood was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, where the gods of the north lay dormant in the ancient weirwood grove that he was seated beneath at that moment. His gods were nameless and faithless, and whenever he took a life, Ned would always find a measure of comfort in the presence of their domain. It was one of the few places where Ned could find solidarity from the difficulties of being Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He was away from it all in these moments – from his wife, his duties, his responsibilities, his children, his family, his king – and could think to himself.

As he sat on the moss covered stone, he wondered on the ramblings of what the deserter had been mumbling. Ned did not even know the boy’s name – only that he had deserted his post following a supposed wildling incursion upon his party. The poor boy seemed to have been stricken with fear, a mad glint of despair dealt deep within his dark eyes. He seemed so sure of what he had seen, had been so scared of what he had seen beyond the Wall. Ned had been sure that it had been wildlings, but from the rasped consternation held within his voice, he was not so sure.

 _Nonsense you fool,_ Ned dissuaded himself. _White Walkers are beings of unspeakable horror only found within the stories of wet nurses and scullery maids. You are not a child anymore listening Nan’s stories._

Whatever that boy had seen, Ned hoped he could find some peace in whatever place he found himself in with death. If he could find the name of the boy, Ned vowed to the gods that he would send a raven to the boy’s village. He hoped his family would be able to find some comfort in knowing the fate of their son.

Today had been strange. As Ned scrubbed the blade with one long stroke, he thought on the unexpected discovery Robb, Jon and Jonos had made during their ride back to Winterfell. A direwolf; an actual dead direwolf. Ned would have been lying to himself if he had not been curious.

Fascinated upon the fact that no direwolf had been seen since the days when the dragons roamed the skies of the world. He pondered on why the direwolf mother had appeared. Was Jory true in his musings: was the sign of the dead direwolf a premonition for something to come?

Ned did not truly count on these signs, but he would count himself more of a fool than he already was if he did not at least take notice of them.

Ned felt the breeze of the cold morning wash against his face, weaving through his dark brown hair. The heart trees great white branches swayed as the weirwood stood tall and beauty.

Ned looked down at his reflection in the pool, which remained still and transposed despite the carrying wind. All he could see were the eyes of Lyanna staring back at him, telling him to look after her son.

_I am, Lya. Despite all my failures, Jon is where he belongs._

He was proud of Jon for what his nephew had said regarding the pups. He would freely admit that he had not been quick to draw the connection between his children and the number of pups they had found. Jon was clever in that way, observing moments and emotions in a way that no one else at Winterfell would. If Jon hadn’t been there vouching for the pups, Ned felt sure that he would have had them killed as mercy.

Like Robb, Jon was a good boy, and would grow to be a great man. Winterfell had been kind to his nephew in ways the south would never be. It was where Jon kept his gods, kept his home, kept his life. The north was good to its people, and Jon was a Stark despite his name. He looked more like a northerner than a Valyrian anyway. The south had never been welcoming to the Starks of the North. His father, his eldest brother, his sister. All gone because of the whims of two Targaryens.

Ned would never understand nor truly forgive Lyanna for running away with Rhaegar. If he could have somehow gone back to that time, he would have tried to stop her. Even if she hadn’t caused the civil war to begin with her actions directly, her flight with Rhaegar had taken Brandon down the path of his death, no matter how incautious his brother’s actions had been.

But if she had not eloped with Rhaegar, Jon would not be born. He did not have the Stark name, but Jon was of his blood. It was a selfish thought of him, but Ned would do anything for his family. Even forsaking his honour. He was sure however many lords both northern and southern would not share his opinion.

Ned had been so caught in his musings that he had not noticed a person approaching him, her steps stroded with determination and resolve across the floor of the godswood as she stopped right near him. The thousands years of humus lay thick upon the godswood flor, swallowing the sound of her feet.

“Ned.” His beautiful wife called softly.

Eddard Stark lifted his head from his trance and looked up at her. Catelyn Tully was a vision wrapped in dark blue northern clothing, looking very much like a Tully of Riverrun with her auburn hair flowing long down her shoulders, slender, graceful frame and bright blue eyes. She had high cheekbones that drew up her cheeks and a narrow nose, as well as long fingers.

 _My beautiful, lovely wife._ Brandon was meant to have her, but Brandon is dead. Now I drink from the cup he would have drunk from if the Rebellion hadn’t transpired. And from that drink, part of what he had to swallow involved marrying his brother’s betrothed. Part of it had been to do with honouring the agreement between the two houses, whilst the rest had been out of necessity. The rebels had needed the support of the riverlands, though it had all been for naught with their defeat at Riverrun.

“Catelyn,” Ned said, his voice distant and formal. That was how he usually was with most people as he reflected in the godswood, even his wife and children. “Where are the children?”

It was a question he always put out to her, and Catelyn responded with, “In the kitchen arguing about the names of the wolf pups.”

Catelyn spread her cloak on the forest floor and sat beside him on the stone, her back against the weirwood tree. Ned could feel the bleeding eyes of the heart tree watch them both, waiting for what they were to say next.

“Arya, she is already in love with her pup, and Sansa is charmed and gracious. Robb and Bran are still deciding on the names they wish to call their wolves, but Rickon is still not quite sure?”

“Is he afraid?” Ned asked.

“A little,” His wife admitted, brushing a red curl away from her brow. “He is only three.”

Ned frowned. “He will not be three forever. He must learn to face his fears, for winter is coming for us all.”

As he left her to ponder the words of his house, Ned continued to polish the metal of his sword, leaving it with a dark glow. After a brief moment of silence, Ned then asked, “What about Jon?”

To that, Catelyn seemed amused. “Jon has already named his albino wolf. Ghost, that what he has decided on. A rather apt name, considering he does indeed look as white as death.”

Ned smiled. Catelyn was very fond of Jon. In Ned’s mind, he thought his wife was regretful that Jon wasn't their son. His nephew had no mother to rely on as support like his children were fortunate to have. Lyanna was dead, and Cersei Lannister would rather have smothered him in his sleep than care for him in the Capitol, so Catelyn had taken it on herself to act as a maternal guide for the Prince when he had arrived at Winterfell ten years ago. That had made Ned love her even more unequivocally than he had thought possible.

How fortunate I am to have a wife of such beauty and intelligence as Catelyn Tully?

“Of course he would,” Ned said. Ned took the swatch of oiled leather and gave the greatsword an extra smooth polish. It's dark glow glistened in the light of the godswood.

“You would have been proud of Bran today, Cat. The deserter died well, and Bran did not flinch away. He stared long and true.”

“I am always proud of Bran. He is a good boy. Strong too. If only he did not constantly climb the walls of Winterfell, then I wouldn't have to comstantly worry about him falling off and breaking his legs.” Catelyn said faintly, looking down at Ice.

There was something off about the way his wife looked, as if something of importance was distracting her. In fact, she did not normally visit him in the godswood following an execution, unless it was a matter of great importance. It was only then did Ned notice the letter under her sleeves. It was not even concealed, merely resting underneath the palm of her hand. He felt foolish for not having seen it before now.

“Cat, I know how you mislike these woods. Is something wrong?” Ned nodded towards the letter.

There was a pause of silence as Catelyn gingerly drew the unsealed paper for his view. She must have read it herself after Luwin, for she told him, “There was a message. From King’s Landing. It was written by Jon, sealed with the red wax of the three-headed dragon. It’s addressed to you, my lord. It’s best if you read this yourself.”

A strangeness was suddenly cast in Catelyn’s blue eyes as she handed him the letter. Her voice seemed low and hollow as she had spoke, as if she had abruptly remembered something that had drained her of all energy to speak. A letter from Jon should not elicit such a reaction. As Hand of the King, his foster father was a very busy man, but he wrote to his former ward whenever he could. Ned loved Jon for that, amongst many other things. It had been only for him that he had reluctantly accepted Rhaegar’s pardon, even to the detriment of his bannermen. He wondered what the contents of the letter were as he unfolded it.

Ned spread it out and began to read.

 

 

 

> Dear Ned,
> 
> It has been a long time. I am sorry I have not written to Winterfell till now, for the duties of helping run the realm are long and ever tedious. I hope your own duties and responsibilities aren't treating you as they are to me. I write to you now to inform of a decision that Rhaegar has made. As much as I have tried to dissuade him, he has decided suddenly to visit the North - more specially to visit Winterfell and experience the hospitality of House Stark. I am sure I do not need to tell you the reason why. He initially wished to bring his entire court, but I have persuaded him to only bring only half. Forgive me, but I was forced to slightly exaggerate the burden that the increased taxes have had in the North. I am so sorry Ned - I know you would rather Jon stay in the North till he has reached manhood, but Rhaegar seems to miss his son. By the time this letter had arrived at Winterfell, the King’s party will be a day from leaving the Capitol. I hope a month will be adequate for your servants to prepare. I am sorry that I cannot come see you. I am sure you understand; you always do. I pray for you and your family in the times to come, my foster son.
> 
> Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, Lord of the Eyrie, Lord Paramount of the Vale and Warden of the East

Ned read the letter over once more after that his eyes skimming through, scanning for anything he might have missed. To find something that would relieve him of the sudden cold that he felt within his chest. No, he had read the letter to last word. He just couldn't understand.

“Rhaegar is coming here,” Ned said softly, his eyes narrowing. “After all these years, he is coming back to Winterfell.” Only this time, Lyanna would not be waiting for him in earnest. Their son was, though he was definitely not waiting for his father.

Catelyn looked rueful as she took his hand. “Ned, what are we going to do?”

Ned did not have an immediate answer. He had not thought of Rhaegar Targaryen in a long time. The letters he wrote to Winterfell were short and infrequent, and rarely ever addressed to him. Many times it would be Jon or Barristan receiving Ravens from the King himself, though he knew Jon responded with the thickest of veiled courtesy. He much preferred the missives he relieved from his half-siblings and aunt.

Unlike many of the North, Ned did not hate Rhaegar. At least not now he did. He had despised Prince Rhaegar during the war and had seethed in defeat following the battle at Riverrun, but since the Greyjoy Rebellion, he could not fully hate him. He should have - continued nurturing hatred towards him for what his actions had caused towards his family. It was expected that he hate him. It was additional weakness, many perceived, that he did not. Because of his folly, his father and siblings save Benjen were dead. Because of him, Robert had died at the Trident. His closest friend. The better man had died during that battle, but Ned could not truly hate the King like his vassals.

Rhaegar had loved Lyanna deeply, more than Elia Martell or even Cersei Lannister, and had cared enough for her in allowing Jon to foster at Winterfell. Even in taking Benjen as a glorified hostage, his younger brother had said naught negative perceptions regarding the King and his treatment at King’s Landing. And Ned was thankful he had let Benjen leave much earlier than intended back home, even if his brother’s new home meant Castle Black.

For those reasons, Ned did not bear hatred towards Rhaegar. It did not mean however he liked the man. Ned honestly did not know what to think of him. He could understand the increased taxes placed on the North, even if it annoyed Ned and made his people work harder. Rhaegar was a strange man. Not mad like his father, but he carried himself in a manner that seemed to indicate a great burden of his shoulders. More so than ruling the Seven Kingdoms, but as if the entire world depended upon him. He was too melancholic

_And now he was coming to my home._

To the land he ruled - were many lords would rather spit in their own cups than welcome a Targaryen into their home. Ned was not insipid. It was not secret that many lords still resented the fact that Ned had bent the knee, sealing a northern surrender. Lords like Greatjon, Bolton and Ryswell always seemed forget that they had been defeated in almost every battle following the Trident, and that Ned had not been in much position to argue following his capture.

It had taken almost fifteen years for Ned to command the full trust of his bannermen again. Rickard, Howland, Halys, Willam and Wyman always had followed him dutifully. He was never regretful of betrothing his eldest son and heir to Rickard’s daughter, nor taking the heirs of Karhold and Barrowton as wards. Jon and Galbart had been won back following the Greyjoy Rebellion, and Maege had always been faithful to Winterfell since her brother has joined the Watch and her dishonorable nephew had fled to the east with his southern wife.

Roose...he had never had cause to see fault in Lord Bolton’s loyalty, but he never had fully trusted him. It was bad enough that the pale-eyed lord seems to be positioning his bastard as his heir. The Botlon and Stark enmity had been earthed thousand of years ago but Ned could never shake a feeling of dread when Roose looked at him with those eyes of his.

Such these thoughts stayed in the back of his mind as Ned rose and slid Ice back into its massive sheath.

“What we must do,” He answered his wife. “The gates of Winterfell will always be open for the King of Westeros. I do not like this, Catelyn, but it is what it is. We cannot stop him from visiting this part of his realm.”

“But Ned, you read what Jon said. There is only one reason he would be coming all his way north. He never visited Jon nor Lyanna’s tomb once these ten years. He is going to bring Jon back with him when he leaves.”

The muscle in Ned’s jaw tightened. He recognised what his wife was saying. He did not like the idea of Jon leaving so soon. He was only fourteen. At least until he turned ten-and-six. In two months, Jon would return to King’s Landing.

Back into that cesspool of vipers and snakes.

He did not want his nephew to be consumed by the game of thrones played in that city. As the heir after Prince Aegon for the Iron Throne, Ned was almost certain people would attempt to use his nephew for their own ambitions.

“I know,” Ned said solemnly, closing his eyes and breathing in the cold northern air. “I know. I do not like at all. Jon belongs in the North - he would be more of an outsider in the south than ever before. I had hoped he would stay here until he reached manhood. My wish had been then to ask Rhaegar to wed Jon to a northern bride. Cede the Gift from the Night’s Watch and settle new lords to protect against wildlings. Grant Jon lordship over the Gift, or at least dominionship over a large proportion of the land.”

Jeor will see sense. Pay taxes to the Night’s Watch and aid the black brothers in repelling raiding wildlings. Greatjon would love this.

“Ah, a northern bride and northern lands for a northern soul,” Catelyn slowly nodded her head. “That is a good idea, my lord. I am sure that would give Rhaegar pause. If you could be bold, you could have one of our daughters marry Jon. Arya is half in love with him already, even if that is more affection akin between siblings, and Sansa is fond of her cousin.”

Ned chuckled. It was a good suggestion. One that he had slept on for many a night recently, “It would have to be Sansa. Jon would never have the heart to deny Arya anything. He loves her too much, and she is too much of a wolf: she could never be tamed by even a willing husband. Even Sansa is too much of a sister to him. But either Sansa, Wylla Manderly or Jorelle Mormont. Perhaps even Howland’s daughter, if my friend were to ever step out if the marshes of the Neck. Robb will be wed in two years time. It would seem prudent for Jon to follow.”

Rhaegar will never agree to this. He probably has his own plans for who Jon should marry. Ned prayed that it was not one of his half-siblings. Jon did not share his family’s tendency to willingly commit incest according to Valyrian tradition. He would probably exile himself to Pentos or run away to Castle Black if Rhaegar attempted to wed him to Princess Visenya, Daenerys or Rhaenys.

He supposed his idea was worth at least consideration by Rhaegar.

“In spite of this visit and its timing...I suppose Jon will want to see his family again. He does speak fondly of his half-siblings, and he always exchanges letters with Princess Daenerys. It has been almost ten years, and they are as much as his family as we are. Barristan, the good man, would want to see Rhaegar and his sworn brothers again too. Not since the Greyjoy Rebellion have they talked directly. Our children will also wish to see the king and his family too.” Ned told his wife.

Catelyn nodded. “Yes, and I think we should send word to your brother. Rhaegar is fond of him, and he'll want to see Ben again.”

“Of course,” Ned stretched his arms out, feeling the cracking of stiff and aching bones as he yawned. “Ben would wish to inform Rhaegar on the state of the Wall, and this new King-Beyond the Wall that has crowned himself. If something is not done about that soon, we might face a wildling invasion once again.”

Ned turned to his wife and outstretched his hand towards her. Catelyn smiled and Ned pulled her up smoothly.

“How many do you think will be in his party? Jon did say half the court will be at Winterfell during the visit. I assume some southern nobles will be present as well.” Ned asked his wife.

“Wherever the King goes, the realm follows,” Catelyn muttered. “ I would say a hundred Knights, all their retainers and maybe fifty or so free riders. We might be fortunate to be graced with only a few nobles - perhaps Ser Loras Tyrell and his sister Margaery? They do attend the court of King Rhaegar, as do Lucas Blackwood and Theon Greyjoy. Most of Rhaegar’s Kingsguard will be riding with the party. The Royal children will present, as well as Cersei and her twin brother.”

Ned grimaced. The Kingslayer. “Any more Lannisters? The Imp perhaps?”

“Ned,” Catelyn chided. “Guard your tongue when they are around. The Lannister woman is our queen, gods be good, and her pride is said to grow with every passing year. And the Kingslayer was forgiven by Rhaegar. He saved Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys from Aerys’ madness after all.”

 _It was a mistake of Rhaegar to marry Cersei._ Ned had never understood why Rhaegar would have married a third time. Political stability may have been achieved in the short term by wedding and bedding with the Lions of the Rock, but Ned was scared that the Lannister woman would use her brood to instigate a second dance of dragons. Gods knows the realm didn't need another war.

“I will watch what I say,” Ned promised, squeezing his wife’s hand. “We will need to tell the children and the servants during about the king’s visit. Sooner rather than latter. We need to inform Vayon to begin preparations, and Luwin to send Ravens to all our vassals about Rhaegar’s visit. A large feast will be need to organised, and rooms prepared, books readied, a hunt organised, clothes spun and washed. Gods, wintertown will need to be opened sooner than planned to accommodate everyone. Damn these dragons.”

 _Wherever the King goes, the realm follows._ There was so much to do, but it seemed so little time to do it.

 

* * *

 

**Daenerys**

 

 _I hope to see you soon at Winterfell, Jon._ Daenerys finished the sentence of the letter, letting the ink dry across the linen paper as she gazed over the last letter. After reading over her letter several times out loud, Dany signed her name on the bottom and stood from her large oak table, brushing her pale hand against the adjourning Myrish curtains that blinded her room from the warm southern sun.

Dany folded the letter and sealed it with a red band. It would up to Pycelle to seal the letter properly with the stamp red wax of the three headed dragon.The sigil of her house - of the royal house of the Seven Kingdoms. Normally, the stamp was only meant to be utilized by the King in his personal messages, but Rhaegar had granted permission for his children and siblings to use the stamp in their letters to Jon.

Most times, these letters were delivered to Winterfell by several messenger, who would take a ship to White Harbor and ride for a few days with several guardsmen to the gates of Winterfell. That was what usually transpired when Aegon, Dany, Visenya or Aenar sent their messages to Jon together, However, whenever it was just one single letter being sent, it would always be by raven. By the time this reached Jon, Dany and the rest of her brother’s party will have left the crownlands.

Daenerys opened to doors of her chambers. Two guards stood vigil beside her doors, their hands rested firmly on their weapons as they acknowledged her presence. Dany did not appreciate the fact that her brother always changed the men guarding her. She understood why she wasn't assigned a knight of the Kingsguard, but she would have liked to know the men who _were_ meant to be protecting her. She had no idea why her brother kept changing her guards. It annoyed her to no end, though perhaps that was her fault. She had never asked him why.

These two were very quiet and somber, incredibly serious and spoke little to themselves, each other or to her. A stark contrast to the previous guards she had been shadowed by, who were both jovial and lively. _Much better company. And at least they knew how to have a good laugh._ She did not know if these two men knew how to smile.

Dany turned to the man on her left, who was handsome with blonde hair and deep blue eyes. Both men were armoured as according to the guards of Rhaegar’s keep - differing from the City Watch or the Kingsguard. They wore mail hauberk which reached their knees, and padded gambeson underneath which was able to protect against steel. In additional to their quilted male chausses protecting their legs, on the top of their mail shirt was a surcoat, which displayed the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen flying through a black field.

 _Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys. The three heads of the dragon. Our ancestral founders._ All guards of House Targaryen were recognised by that surcoat. Her guards wore orange cloaks ads of heavy wool and held dirks on their belts as well.

“Good ser, I was wondering if mayhaps take this letter to Grand Maester Pycelle,” Daenerys said to the blonde haired guard, handing the sealed letter to the man’s armoured hand. She thought his name was Jason, or was that the other one? “It is addressed to Prince Jon at Winterfell. He’ll know what to do with it.”

Jason - she hoped that was his name - closed his eyes and bowed his head towards her. His expression did not seem cheerful, but then again it normally wasn't.

“By your will, my princess.” He said in a gravelly voice. He sounded like he was from the Stormlands, possibly from the Dornish Marches based on how drawn out he had pronounced the “s” in “princess”. With that, he turned stiffly and walked quickly away.

As he rounded the corner, Dany turned around and saw the other guard looking expectantly at her. This one was plain-faced, though had a powerful and broad body frame and was very tall. In fact, he practically dwarfed Dany in height comparison, though she herself was short in stature. She believed his name was Patrek.

“My princess, are you to be going somewhere?” He asked, his voice unusually soft for a man of his build.

“Why yes,” Daenerys smiled at him. They were both somber men, but at least they were courteous. “Princess Rhaenys has asked me to visit her chambers to talk with her privately. I would wish to go see her now.”

“Of course, my princess,” The man nodded respectfully. “If we may be off then?”

Dany began walking down the corridor, the guard trailing close behind her. She knew every nook and cranny of the Red Keep - she had lived in the castle for her entire life - and could have went by herself to Rhaenys. Possibly even faster. But Rhaegar was insistent that guards following every member of House Targaryen whether they went. She supposed it was understandable. Elia Martell had died without the protection of her guards, and it had only been through Jaime’s deliberance that Aegon and Rhaenys were alive. She kept a solid pace for the sake for her guard.

Rhaenys’ rooms weren't so far from hers, and unsurprisingly she found Ser Balon Swann standing watch outside the door. A big and powerful man, he has arms thick with muscle and a large chest. His brown hair was cropped above his brow and blue eyes. She liked Balon, he was a valiant and dutiful man who worshiped Rhaegar. He deserved the White Cloak, just like the other six Knights that served her brother.

Ser Balon saw her approach and bowed his head respectfully towards her. “Your Grace.”

He announced her name through the closed door, and she heard Rhaenys call for her to enter.

Her niece’s room were resplendent and spacious, the welcoming room consisting of bright orange walls covered by red Dornish-spun finery and closets assorted throughout the room brimmed with books, drawings, journals and sculptures. Just like her, Rhaenys loved to read and write as well. Rhaenys’ bed chambers were separated by another door, and by that door Dany saw the lovely painted picture of Princess Elia Martell, seated upon a black stool holding a yellow crown in her olive hands as she smiled sweetly. Dany knew that Aegon held a similar painting in his rooms, having been commissioned by Rhaegar for his two eldest children on Aegon’s fourth name day.

The door closed as Daenerys walked in slowly to the room, and she found Rhaenys gazing out the window in slight boredom. Rhaenys looked beautiful, her fine dark hair drawn to the middle of her back and her hauntingly black eyes piercing like the pitch-black night. She wore a deep velvet red dress with black laced trim and black embroidered swirls at the bust line. Over her waist was a red velveteen belt with a back tie up and red swirl velvet skirt section. On the top of her black head was a chain headpiece which draped along her forehead. Very much like a crown.

Neither of them had adopted the current hairstyle trends of the Capitol, but compared to her niece, Dany looked like a scullery maid. Her silver-blonde hair was long and brushed into curls down both shoulders, her dress made of a simple silver silk and her face looked haggard from lack of sleep. Dany was too excited and anxious about visiting Winterfell. Only rarely did she ever get to travel somewhere that wasn't in the crownlands. She so desperately wanted to see the North, and whether it was a cold barren wasteland like many southern courtiers whispered behind their palms or a beautiful, tranquil and peaceful land as Jon described it in his letters.

Rhaenys looked to her as she approached, and smiled. “Sweet aunt,” Rhaenys beckoned to her with a finger. “Come, sit with me. Let us have some wine. It is a fine drink - straightfrom the cellars of Paxter Redwyne.”

 _Rhaegar doesn't like me having wine at my age,_ Dany thought, _but Rhaenys doesn't care._

Her niece disliked their father, and in many ways she was warranted. His actions with the wolf maid had led to the death of her mother, and Rhaegar had almost immediately married Cersei afterwards. Cersei Lannister: the bitch of Casterly Rock. The only good things to have come from her were Visenya and Aenar.

With a shake of her head, Dany took a chair and sat near her. Rhaenys shrugged at Dany’s decline and began pouring herself a goblet.

“Where are your ladies, Rhae?” Daenerys asked, her eyes looked around the room. “Should they not be attending to you?”

“Oh, they are. Margaery has taken some of my dresses in addition to her own to a seamstress in the city to be outfitted for the northern weather, Meredyth is returning a book that I borrowed from the library and Jynessa is selecting some jewels for me to wear. Those girls are always so willing to please, especially Lady Tyrell. Gods she hides under sweet words, but she is so tries to curry my favour. I didn't know she wanted to be Aegon’s wife so badly. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else from a Tyrell. Those upstart stewards have always reached bolder than they can hold.”

 _I suppose being a Targaryen does not hide her maternal cultural biases._ Daenerys had found it ironically amusing that Margaery Tyrell had been assigned to Rhaenys as a lady-in-waiting - a reacher woman from the ancient rivals of House Martell attending a daughter of a Princess of Dorne. She supposed it did not help Rhaenys that Margaery had been sent to King’s Landing to seduce Aegon and be his queen. She considered it small mercy that Egg had not succumbed to her advances. Yet.

Rhaenys looked at Dany carefully, smiling slyly. “Where are your ladies, Dany?”

“I had no need of them today, so they are minding their own business privately. I do not really mind nor know what my ladies do by themselves.” That was a small and harmless lie. She knew exactly what her friends were doing at this moment.

“That's awfully generous of you,” Rhaenys said, placing her cup against her lips. “But as much as I would _love_ to continue this discussion, that it not why I asked you to come here.”

“Yes, Rhae, why exactly did you you ask me to speak with you? Your message was awfully vague. It is almost like you were hiding something, though I highly doubt my niece would be purporting any inconspicuous thoughts.”

“Of course I would not be hiding something. You are my aunt, Dany, and my friend. We must always be honest with each other. Friendship is a bond that should not be broken. And if you cannot trust family, then who can you trust?” Dany watched as Rhaenys placed her cup back on the table between them.

“We will be leaving in a day’s time for Winterfell. I know how excited you are to see the north and all its cold splendours - though why you do not share this level of eagerness when I broach the subject of Dorne, I do not know - and to see your precious Jon after all this time. Gods, has it been ten years since he left King’s Landing? Out went he and in came Theon Greyjoy. I am not sure which one I would have preferred: that lecherous Greyjoy reaver or my father’s bastard to grace our halls.”

Dany quietly sighed. She would have been surprised if Jon’s name had not been mentioned in this conversation between the pair.

“First of all, Rhae, he is not my precious Jon. Jon is a good person, and he is my nephew and my friends. I -”

Dany was cut off by Rhaenys’ raised eyebrow, piercing through her concentration. “I am sorry, but did you just say that Jon is a good person and your friend? I highly doubt that you have established such a close connection through letters nor gauged the person he is.”

“You can assess a person for what they are through their writing, though it ultimately depends on the person,” Dany told her. “And Jon is a good person. If you wrote to him just once, you would see that. Winterfell was kinder to him than you think. He is also not a bastard. You and half the court may think so, but Rhaegar acknowledged his second marriage with Lady Lyanna. Many lords who are not Dornish acknowledge Jon as Rhaegar’s trueborn son. Even the Faith approved.”

“Begrudgingly, and only after promises and coaxes by father to support the Faith and its authority. My father did not even _wed_ the wolf maid under the Seven Pointed Star - they exchanged vows under a weirwood tree. Where is the legitimacy in that?  My mother was Rhaegar’s wife during that time. No one else. Jon is my half-brother, I will admit that. There is no denying his parentage. But Lyanna Stark was no wife of Rhaegar Targaryen - merely a mistress. Many men have fathered bastards off mistresses, and that is what Jon is. A product of an illicit affair that ruined the entire realm and killed ten thousand innocent men and women. Including my mother.”

 _That is not Jon’s fault. That was my...that was my father._ Dany tried not to think of Aerys Targaryen, or the Mad King as they openly called him. His atrocities were well known across the known world, and many said he had deserved worse than a stabbing in the back from the Kingslayer’s golden sword.

“Enough, Rhae,” Dany twisted her mouth in anger, tightening her fists against her thighs. She was thankful that she had not accepted a cup of wine, for she might have smashed it against the wall in anger. “I cannot convince you to let go our brash and unwarranted dislike towards Jon and the north, and you can’t convince me to share your rash judgement.”

“Yes, I suppose we can agree on that,” Rhaenys muttered, her eyes cast low. As quickly as a cat, Rhaenys fixed a smile back on her face. “Before we were distracted by personal perspective, we will arrive at the north in a month’s time. With Cersei in our company, gods stricken us. Why that slut must come, I do not know. We will be spending another month’s time at Winterfell frollicking in the summer snows and dancing in the winter halls as the cold winds blow through our hair, before we ride back to King’s Landing with two extra persons joining our party.

“Or if my father is still set in his mind, he might take my brothers to go visit our distant Targaryen uncle at the Wall and check on the Watch. Either way, we will be coming back down to King’s Landing and resuming ourselves in this city. Perfectly normal, as if nothing had changed save for the presence of my half-brother in our daily lives. Or will everything be normal? Will something disparate occur that will change many things?”

Dany narrowed her brow. She was not sure if she was understanding what Rhaenys was intimating. Her niece was like that, veiling the true meaning behind her words with minced courtesy. Dany still felt tense over their previous argument over Jon’s validity, and she could feel her palms clenched with sweat.

“Rhae, get to the point. What are you trying to say? If you asked me to speak with you just draw out riddles…?”

“Tsk, so impatient. That will need to be corrected when you become queen. A wife of the King should be as patient as a septa, at least that is a virtue that we are all taught as babes suckling at our wet nurses teat -”

Dany was not sure she had heard the rest of what Rhaenys after that. Her throat was caught in her mouth, her mouth gaping open as she looked at her brother’s daughter with eyes wide open. Dany was struggling to speak as she comprehended what was just said. What had she just said? Queen?

_No, I will not be the queen. Cersei is queen, and Rhaegar will never set aside his Lannister wife for me. Unless...unless she is talking about Aegon._

Dany had nothing to draw from, but she was quite sure that she was referring to being Aegon’s future queen. But that was impossible. She was not betrothed to him. In fact, none of the Targaryens save Viserys were engaged. Even Rhaenys, who was ten-and-seven, remained unmarried.

Rhaenys caught herself mid-sentence and paused to looked Dany’s face, a smile smile playing at her red lips. “Ah, I am sorry. I should have told you earlier. I am sure it must have come as a surprise for you. It certainly did for me.”

“What-what-what...I don't understand. I am not betrothed to Aegon. Rhaegar has never - nor has he insinuated as much.”

“I know. As I said, I was quite shocked too when I found out. I thought he would marry Aegon to me, since he seems set in naming after the three heads of the dragons. Or Visenya, even if she is too young. You are probably wondering how I know.”

“Yes. Very much so.” Dany almost shouted at her, but kept her voice low to not attract attention from Balon Swann.

“One of my maids - Syella is her name, the girl with the bright red hair and hazel eyes - overheard my father speaking with Lord Jon regarding the topic of Aegon a few days ago. I do not believe they knew she was near, or else they would have been more tight-lipped. She is a good and reliable woman, and has never shied away from me with the truth nor has let me be privy to false information, so I consider her word very valuable. Anyway, Jon was pestering King Rhaegar regarding Aegon’s future queen. Even an heir needs an heir. Father was attempting to avoid the question, but he eventually relented and told Lord Connington his plans.”

Dany found it hard to believe that a simple maid could have heard all this without the tipping off her presence from Ser Kenneth Fell or any of the nearby guards. But...Rhaenys was so secretive with her thoughts, even with Dany. If she did not believe this maid to be telling the truth, then she would not have called to speak with Dany.

_Rhae acts coy sometimes, but I would not believe she would play mind games with me. What would be the point? I have done nothing to her that would make her angry towards me._

“Suppose this maid of yours _was_ not misinforming you,” Dany began, carefully selecting her words. “The plans that my brother are formulating...did they mention mayhaps when Rhaegar would announce this betrothal?”

“Lord Jon asked that same question, and apparently father was thinking after we came back to King’s Landing.”

 _Okay._ “And...what about when the marriage would take place.”

Rhaenys shrugged, “Syella did not hear them say anything regarding that, but I would believe my father would have you two wedded and bedded once you have turned ten-and-six. It would make the most sense, considering Aegon would have reached majority and you would have flowered.”

 _Three years. A year or so after the dawn of the third century after Aegon’s Landing, I will be married to Aegon._ Dany was not sure what to think. Her mind was befuddled with a multitude of flashing thoughts. It was hard to comprehend it all so suddenly.

“Are you alright, Dany? You did not look particularly pleased with what I have just told you.”

Dany could feel her cheeks reddening under Rhaenys’ questioning stare. “I am not unhappy. It's just that this is just so sudden. If this is true, then it is unexpected. I honestly did not expect to be marrying Aegon. I thought maybe Visenya or yourself would be his queen, or my brother would choose a daughter from one of the houses that were feal to his claim during the civil war.”

_Margaery Tyrell or even a girl from the east were distinct possibilities. She did not have to be of the blood._

Rhaenys pursued her lips. “I can understand that, but once I separated myself from my initial surprise, I thought it made the most sense. I am two years Aegon’s senior, and Visenya is five years his junior. You are only two years younger, and of the highest of Valyrian heritage, and look more Valyrian than me or even Visenya. It would be expected that Aegon would marry within the family, so no feathers would be ruffled with the high lords. Rhaegar adores his little sister, and you are a very beautiful girl, Dany. Your children would be incredibly beautiful dragon lords, be them women or men. Aegon already considers you like his sister, and I know he would have no qualms in marrying you.”

 _Yes, but would he have qualms in staying in my bed?_ Dany was not so sure that Aegon would remain faithful. Oh, of course he would treat her as courteously and lovingly as possible, and would never abuse her, but he would eventually grow tired of her sexually and find another woman to share his bed with. This was not a remote possibility - Dany already knew that this outcome would transpire. She couldn't allow herself to be surprised. He was half a Dornishmen after all, and their blood was fierce.

“I suppose we will have to wait till after Jon and Ser Barristan come back with us,” Dany said finally, breathing slowly. “I wonder who else Rhaegar is planning to marry off in the next few years. You and Jon remain unbetrothed, and Viserys is already in Dorne preparing for his marriage with your cousin.”

“I do not know, but if I had to suspect, I would think Willas Tyrell. He needs to keep the Reach Lords in check, and what better way than marrying his eldest daughter to the crippled heir to Highgarden.” Rhaenys scowled as she spoke.

“Willas Tyrell is allegedly a good man, and it is not his fault that your uncle threw him off his horse in that tourney.” Dany told her.

“Where did you hear that? From that pretty boy Loras Tyrell? From that slut Margaery Tyrell? Willas is a good, pious and gentle man, who will bore me to no end. The Fat Flower thrust him into tourneys at too tender an age, and his leg was caught in the stirrup. Now his heir is a cripple, and not the Leo Longthorn that he wanted,” Rhaenys stretched her arms out, closing her eyes as she yawned.

Dany took that as her cue to leave. She needed a good wash to cleanse herself from the shock she had sustained from Rhaenys’ revelation. _I am to be married to Aegon Targaryen. My nephew. My friend. My future husband and King._

“Rhae, if that was all you wished of me, can I leave? I would like think on what you have told me just now, or else I will have a headache.”

“Of course. I only wished to tell you because I did not want you to be surprised when Rhaegar calls on you. I care for you too much, Dany.”

 _Of course you do._ Dany stood up slowly, careful not to seem anxious in front of her niece. She supposed she had already failed at that. She said her goodbyes and was about to leave when she heard Balon’s booming voice through the closed door.

“Princess Rhaenys and Princess Daenerys, Prince Aegon Targaryen wishes to enter the room.” Balon announced.

 _Aegon? Speak of the devil, of course he would here._ Rhaenys and him were close, perhaps closer than many would especially like. Perhaps as Aegon’s future wife, she should have been scrutinising their relationship a little more closely too.

“Of course, See Balon,” Rhaenys called, looking at Dany knowingly. “Send my dear brother in.”

Dany raised her silver eyebrow at her. _Should I stay?_ She mouthed at Rhaenys, who merely nodded.

The door opened, and like a lithe cat, Aegon slipped it.

“I must say, Dany, I was quite surprised when Balon mentioned that you were inside. I was expecting to find Rhae alone, but your company is certainly welcome.” Aegon tilted his chiseled jaw towards her, smiling.

Dany found it hard to speak, for many reasons that were not all due Egg appearance in the room. As disheveled as he appeared now, Aegon made for a magnificent sight. Aegon was a very handsome and attractive young man, tall, sinewy and well-built with broad shoulders and a slender, muscular frame. He kept his silver-blonde hair shorter than Rhaegar, cut to just above his neck, and his purples eyes were a dark shade of indigo that could even make the most aged woman fluster. Clad over his body were leathers of the red and black colours of House Targaryen, with black trousers and a sword belt strapped over his waist.

 _Beautiful, comely Aegon._ His beauty made even Dany pause for a moment. She then remembered that she was to marry this man in three years time.

“Aegon,” Dany bowed her head, giving the respect the heir to the throne was entitled to. “It is good to see you.”

“And it is good to see you too, my dearest aunt,” Aegon smiled, his eyes flashing.

Rhaenys cleared her throat, breaking Dany’s slight daze. Rhaenys appraised over Aegon disapprovingly. “Brother, you look very untidy. What have I told you of keeping yourself this unkempt?”

Aegon groaned. “Never to do so, especially when leaving the castle. It was not my fault. My servants groomed me quite well, and you saw how I looked this morning. Clean, hair combed and my face washed.”

“Yes, and now you look like you've been bedding down in the stables,” Rhaenys scrunched her nose up. “What exactly were you doing in the city? Hopefully not playing with whores again. You would not want to embarrass our family by planting a few bastards in their bellies.”

Aegon grinned, brushing past Dany as he leaned against Rhaenys’ immaculate wooden table. “No, I did not visit any brothels. I went with Theon and Lucas to one of the smithies to repair my sword. You know, the one that Oswell broke during practice? We left the sword to be fixed overnight and had some fun before coming back.”

Dany was sure she would regret this, but she had to ask for her own conscious. “What type of fun?”

Aegon did not look at her as he said, “Oh, we went to one of the finer taverns in the city and played cards, drank, cyvasse and betted. Nothing much more. People in the city are more livelier than you think, especially when a few pints of beer are whisked around for all to share. A lot of those men and women are good people. I should go down to the city more often.”

It was as if Rhaenys and Daenerys had melded minds as they both thought the same thought, though Rhae was more willing to speak it aloud, “Aegon, who was the girl this time?”

“I have none of the faintest idea what you are talking about, Rhae,” Aegon responded. “I am being completely sincere when I say that we went to the tavern and enjoyed ourselves. Enjoying some of the last comforts of the south before we ride off to the north and freeze ourselves. That was it.”

“Neither Daenerys nor I believe any of the words coming out of your mouth, Egg,” Rhaenys shook her head, a ghost of a smile situating itself. “Was it Eleya, or that buxom tavern wench that you were fond of? What’s her name - Jaela, Shirley?”

“Rosey,” Aegon corrected. “And I will still abide by my answer. Think carefully, Rhae. Arthur was with me. How would I have ever slipped his hawk-like view to warm my bed?”

“It doesn’t really matter what you say, little brother, because I will find out eventually. Either Theon or Lucas will tell me. Lucas probably is more inclined too. That Blackwood boy is more scared of me than he is of a woman’s - ”

“Enough, Rhaenys,” Daenerys interrupted. “This is getting tiresome. Maybe Aegon is telling the truth, maybe no. Should it matter to you who he sticks his manhood? I think Aegon wishes to speak with you about something. Privately. I should best be off to my chambers.”

Dany lifted her skirts and once more reached for the door. She had enough of her niece and nephew for a few hours anyway. She loved them, but they reached more for things that they couldn’t hold. Whatever they wished to converse to each other about, Dany wanted no part of it.  

She would rather think about her the journey to Winterfell, about seeing the Starks and witnessing the snows fall from the skies and melt in her hair.

She stopped in her movement as Rhaenys’ voice pierced the air, “It should matter to you who Aegon beds, Dany. After all, you are to marry him after all.”

Dany turned around and was about to glare at Rhaenys before noticing Aegon’s flickering expression. It made her pause. His once brightened and cheerful face was shifting in a consortium of mixed emotions. It was as if something had dawned on him, something he had never heard of before.

_Does he not know? No, Rhaenys would have told him. He would have been the first person._

“What are you talking about, Rhae? I am not marrying Dany. Father had not said anything about who I am to wed.” Aegon said, his voice clipped with slight unease.

Dany gaped at Rhaenys. “Have you not told him? I thought -”

“No, I only found out yesterday, and I was deliberating on the validity of the information,” Rhaenys explained. “Aegon was out of the city, and since you were here...well, I suppose now you would want to stay in my room for the time being, Dany. After all, I am sure you would like to help me inform Aegon the true nature of the situation. If you didn’t, it wouldn’t be very wifely of you.”

 

 

* * *

 

**Jon**

The sound of steel ringed through the courtyard as men practiced between other to test their fighting abilities. Good men, sworn to Winterfell and to the North. Sworn to protect House Stark and its members whether they be in war or peacetime. If these men did not continually practice their skills, then they would jeopardise the safety of his uncle, his wife and his cousins. And that was something Jon would never allow for.

Avoiding Robb’s glancing blow, Jon met the wooden sword with his own and struck out a series of blows against Robb’s defence, to which his cousin met in stride.

Although Jon was a better swordsman, Robb was certainly no laughing matter when it came to swordsmanship. Jon would usually win most of their bouts, but there were quite a few times that Robb would push ahead and win. Every time it happened, it only increased Jon’s resolve to win next round. He was quicker and more aloof on his feet than Robb, but the heir to Winterfell was taller, stronger and a more intimidating opponent.

Jon jerked back, aside as Robb slashed down at him. The blow meant for his jaw whizzed by . From the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin move his weapon upward. Jon ducked this time, and felt his hair ruffle with the force of it.

“Go, Jon! You can beat him,” His most ardent supporter yelled, dangling herself over the wrought iron fence that enclosed the training area.

Jon grinned despite himself, and was met with a near hit from Robb. Jon lept back and twirled towards his left, trying to hit Robb’s sword arm to loosen the weapon. Robb seemed to sense his intention and swayed his arm away.

“Scared, Targaryen?” Robb asked, his face alight with sweat.

“You wish, Stark.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see the usual group of attenders watching their practice round with heated attention. Rodrik, stroking his whiskers, was observing the fight with a smile while Barristan watched them both with a silent concentration. Jonos was nursing a bruise he had sustained from his round with Robb, and Harry was grinning down at Arya Stark.

“Gods, not only does the little lady support her cousin over her brother, she shouts out help to her brother’s opponent. Imagine if this were a real battle with steel swords, I wonder would our lady would still cry for Jon.”

Jon tried not to chuckle when Arya pouted her head and responded, “No, you sound so stupid. Jon and Robb would never fight to hurt each other, nor would I have the time to shout help,”

Arya straightened herself. “I would be the one to stop them from fighting.”

“Of course you would, little sister.” Robb called, smiling despite himself.

_Come on, Targaryen. Remember what Barristan told you. You’ve already observed him. Find a weakness and exploit it._

Robb rushed Jon, and slashed downwards with the sword when he reached him.  Jon parried with leather-skin gauntlet, growling in pain as it strapped his arm  Robb quickly uppercut slashed at Jon’s shoulder, attempting to catch him.

Jon sidestepped to the right just enough and the sword passed a finger’s breadth away from his face. Too close for his own comfort.

Quickly, before Robb could respond with a follow-up, Jon swiftly punched Robb in the stomach, knocking the wind out of his cousin, stunning him for a brief moment. He did not feel guilty over fighting like this. This was the northern way, and Robb would have done the exact same if he had been given the chance. The punch had opened Jon for a decisive finish. Jon sidekicked Robb, doubling him over to the floor.

“Yes!” Arya shouted, earning disapproving looks from the onlookers present.

The crowd surrounding them let out a collective wince as Jon flicked his sword at Robb’s leg, cracking the heir. Robb’s face twisted in pain, and he let go of his sword. Jon wasted no time in kicking the practice weapon away and pressing his foot against Robb’s broad chest, pointing the his own wooden sword at Robb’s throat.

“Yield,” Robb raised his hands up, his blue eyes glimmering. “I yield. You win, Targaryen. Get your stinking foot off my chest.”

Jon grinned and did just so, stepping back before extending his hand out to his cousin. Robb’s face slowly morphed into a matching one before taking it.

“You did good, Jon. That was bloody brilliant punching me, though I was stupid for leaving myself so open. You did not have to hit my leg though. That stung more than the punch. It will not happen again, I promise.” Robb said as Jon pulled him up.

Jon clapped him on the back. “I know it will not.”

As they made themselves to Ser Rodrik, he nodded approvingly to them. “Good match, boys. It is pleasing to see that adopting these direwolves hasn’t affected your performance in fighting.”

“Why would it?” Robb asked, peeling his gloves off. “Our wolves are similar to pups born of dogs, though I would say smarter and of faster growth. Jon’s white wolf has already opened its eyes.”

“Speaking of Ghost, where is your wolf, Jon?” Jonos Dustin asked, looking at Jon with grey eyes a lighter shade than his. “That one was all alert and sullen a few days ago.”

“He’s sleeping in Jon’s room,” Arya answered before Jon could reply. “Just like Nymeria and the rest of the wolves. Though who knows what Sansa is doing with her wolf. Probably grooming her with silks and dyes of pink over its furs.”

Jon reached out and ruffled his little cousin’s brown hair. Out of all the Starks, he loved Arya the best. Of course, he loved them all, and Robb was more his equal and partner than anything else. But Jon felt he shared a more special connection with Arya.

She looked more like him than any of the other Stark children, who were all easy smiles, auburn hair and blue eyes. Arya was solemn and long faced, with eerily grey eyes and long brown hair tied all loose and wild like a horse. She wasn’t conventionally pretty like Sansa was, but that did not matter to him.

Arya had a good heart, and was so passionate and fierce in her opinion. She did not wish to be treated like a noble lady, all courtseys and faked appearance like the ladies of his father’s court.  That made her an outsider in the family, unable to fit into any of the conventions set by societal expectations of women.

She had filled the gap of a sister better than Rhaenys ever had. Jon had never seen Visenya and his rare communication with her came from letters, but she seemed a nice and courteous girl with innocent queries. Jon had tried answering them as best as he could.

He supposed he also connected to Arya more from the fact she looked very much like his mother. Everyone said so. Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn, Ser Barristan, Ser Rodrik, Jory. She was Lyanna Stark Reborn, and if this was how his mother had been in temperament, he was sure he would have loved her just as fiercely as he did Arya.

“Little cousin, shouldn’t you be attending needlework with Septa Mordane and the rest of the northern ladies?” Jon asked. “Lady Catelyn will be upset once she finds out you skipped another lesson. Remember last time?”

“Why, will you tell her?” Arya asked.

“A question you already know the answer too.”

“Then if she doesn’t know, there will be nothing to worried about. It’s not like that stupid septa will miss me. My stitches are always crooked, and I would rather be yelled at by mother then listen to her constantly appraise Sansa.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that, little sister,” Robb said to her, flicking away an auburn curl from his face. “Even if none of say a word here, Sansa will tell her, or Septa Mordane, or Jeyne Poole, or Beth, or Cassa, or Becca. Then you will be in trouble. You know how mother is like with these things.”

“Hah, your mother will just scold her. ‘Lady Arya Stark,” Jonos raised his voice higher and in a more shrill voice as he continued, imitating Catelyn Tully as he placed his hands on his hips, “You should be doing your needlework, not rummaging around in the training courtyard with all the men like a she-wolf. You are a Lady, not a wolf. Why can you not be like your sister. She is just s _o, so_ perfect. A true southern flower.’”

Everyone laughed aloud at Jonos’ decent imitation of Lady Stark.

“Good one, Jonos,” Robb nodded. “Hey, shouldn’t you be helping Old Bessy in the kitchens and preparing us dinner for tonight? You did lose the race after all.”

_That is right. With the discovery of the direwolves, I completely forgot about that._

Jonos eased back from the fence with slow, deliberate steps. His friend despite his tender age of twelve was a tall and handsome lad, and wore a yellow doublet emblazoned with the two rusted long axes of his house. “Damn It, I had thought you had forgotten about that. I was going to go, but one thing led to another and I just misplaced the time.”

Jon smirked at his friend. “Oh, you know Robb. When it comes to obligations, he never forgets anything. Which is why you need to run down to the kitchens and ask good old Bessy nicely to assist her in cooking the finest of roast pork and lamb that we have ever tasted.”

Jonos groaned, “Come off it, Jon. Not you too.”

“And me as well.” Harrion folded his massive arms over his chest. “I want to see how my dinner tastes like with the finest of Dustin and Ryswell hands preparing it so delicately. If you can, can you roast some horseflesh over the grill? Preferably that red stallion of yours. I’ve never tried the meat of a horse before. There should always be a first time for everything.”

“Here, here.” Arya agreed.

“Careful, Karstark. Never in a million moons will I have Blazer killed,” Jonos growled softly. “It’s a gift from my grandfather. And you don’t want to taste horseflesh, Arya. It’s disgusting, especially when considering that what you are eating are fine animals that service our needs of travel every day without ample reward. Horses deserve better.”

“Harry was only jesting, Jonos. Relax.” Robb said, shaking his head. “But I was not. Come. I am sure Harry, Jon and I will take you ourselves to the kitchens to make sure you do not scare yourself like a blushing maid and forgo your promise.”

“Are you serious, Robb? You do not need to come with me,” Jonos sighed. “But I know you will never listen to reason.”

“Hah, what reason? After I'm done getting out of these paddings, we had best be off,” Robb looked around at the rest of the group, “you all are accompanying me to see Jonos grovel, right?”

“Aye. It should be a fun distraction.” Harry replied, grinning.

“As long as mother doesn't catch me, I am definitely coming.” Arya said enthusiastically, nodding.

Robb turned to Jon, who was being helped by a servant out of his leather training armour. “You in as well, Jon? We have a few hours until dinner, so we can enjoy ourselves before then. Pick a few vegetables and fruits from the glass garden? Try to get Bran in trouble for scaling the walls”

“As much as I would love too, I am going to wash and change into something more appropriate,” Jon answered, apologetically. “And I have a few letters from King’s Landing I wish to read.”

“Ah, of course,” Robb said, his eyes flashing with understanding. “I am sure if I had a beautiful Targaryen princess beguiling me with letters, I would be more inclined to sit down over my bed and take my time reading them.”

“Jon doesn't think Princess Daenerys is beautiful,” Arya interjected before Jon could reply. “There letters are cordial and courteous. She is just his aunt and friend.”

“Little sister, you don't have to not know someone to find them beautiful,” Robb said to her, before putting an arm around Jonos’ shoulders. “Come now, let us be off. We should have brought Luwin with us to write this moment down in his papers.”

“Damn you, Stark.”

With that, Robb flashed Jon a leaving smile and went south with a disparaging Jonos and Harrion towards the kitchen, which were situated several feet away from the library tower and between the Bell Tower and Maester’s Turret.

Arya bounded off the gate of the fence and looked back at Jon, “Are you sure you don't wish to come, Jon?”

Jon smiled warmly at Arya. “I'm sure. Go on, get out of here and enjoy yourself. Don't get yourself into trouble. I'll see you at dinner.”

With that, Arya turned and scuttled fast towards the direction the others had gone, her brown hair waving behind her.

Jon watched her go. He could still hear the sounds of wood and steel being clashed against each other as many of these good Northmen continued practicing around him. _Winterfell. All these people, this castle, this northern landscape, these gods. This is where I belong. Not the south with all its frivolous fancies and veiled backhanded courtesies._

As the servant took off the last of Jon’s paddings and ran off to have them washed, Jon’s thoughts washed away as he heard the throat of Ser Barristan Selmy being cleared. The old knight had been watching his exchange with his friends with a plain expression.

“How did I do, ser?” Jon asked, knowing that his protector and teacher would answer him truthfully.

The old knight regarded him thoughtfully with blue, tired eyes, “Quite well, my prince. It seems you haven't been dozing off in our private lessons as I had suspected. You did not let your superiority over Robb in swordsmanship cloud your own observations. Of course, if that had been a real battle, Robb would have had you killed the moment you let him past your defences, but you rebounded successfully and managed to take his momentary lapse as an advantage.”

Ser Barristan patted him on the shoulder, his mailed hand heavy and robust. “You did a fine job, Jon.”

Jon beamed at the knight. Out of everyone in the capitol, Jon had always admired Barristan the best. Of course, Arthur Dayne was the Sword of the Morning, and Ser Oswell was as sharp-witted and a clever minstrel of words, but this was Ser Barristan the Bold. He was the man who had killed Maelys the Monstrous in single combat, who had helped defeat the Kingswood Brotherhood and killed Ser Simon Toyne, who had rescued his grandfather from the Defiance of Duskendale. He had aided Rhaegar in killing Robert Baratheon at the Trident.

In Jon’s mind, no knight could compare. He thought of how much of a sacrifice it must had been to accompany Jon to Winterfell. Away from his roots in the south, away from his sworn brothers and his king. Many would have chafed at that duty. But Barristan had been willing and had protected and trained Jon for the past ten years.

“Thank you, Barristan,” Jon replied, bowing his head respectfully. “Has there been any word from the capitol?”

_Why do I even ask? I know what the answer will be._

At that, the old knight shifted in his white-scaled armour, grimacing slightly. “There has been a raven that arrived a few days. Addressed to Lord Eddard Stark. From Lord Jon Arryn.”

“Oh.” That was his father’s Hand of the King. He had served for almost ten years as Rhaegar’s Hand since the Greyjoy Rebellion, as an almost conciliatory gesture to mend relations between the Vale and the Crown since the civil war. Jon did not remember him from his days in King’s Landing, but he had been a foster father to his uncle, and Lord Eddard had always praised Lord Jon to his children and wards.

Barristan seemed to notice the disappointed look on Jon’s face as he continued, “Lord Jon was speaking on behalf of the King. He had an important message for Lord Eddard to hear.”

“What was it?”

“I...I cannot tell you,” Barristan shook his head apologetically, his lined features creasening. “Lord Eddard asked me from refraining on speaking of it to anyone save him or Lady Stark, at least until tonight’s dinner. I am sure he will tell you then. He will tell everyone.”

_You are his guest in Winterfell after all. I may be prince, but he is Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.  It would be disrespectful after all to disregard his wishes._

“Of course, I understand,” Jon cracked his jaw, rubbing the side of his face slightly. His whole face had been tense since the morning. He supposed a good bath would do him some good.

With that, Jon bade his knight farewell and began walking towards the Great Keep. The Great Keep was the innermost keep of the ancient holdfast and stronghold of the castle complex. It was built over natural hot springs to keep it warm, its compact walls made of granite. It was connected to the armory by a covered bridge, which Jon crossed each day after finishing his practice with Ser Barristan and Ser Rodrik Cassel. Inside the Great Keep were the chambers in which he slept in.

His rooms were to the door next to Robb’s, which he had found a gleeful fact as a child. Jon and Robb had always snuck into each other’s rooms at night to exchange ghost stories regarding White Walkers and wights and wildlings and grumpkins. His rooms were not commodious or extensive like his chambers in the city, but Jon appreciated them even more. They were simple and comfortable enough to shelter and keep him well-rested. His rooms were moresay an extension of the northern culture, if he was being honest.

It took him several minutes, but upon running up the staircase brushing past respectful servants, he eventually opened the door that beheld his chambers and almost jumped on his bed. Jon yawned aloud as he heard his door close with a sudden slam, and sprawled himself across the wolf furs that warmed him at night.

Today’s practice had been more tiresome that he had wished. Despite being the better swordsman, Robb was no easy opponent, and had won one of the three rounds they had fought. He was thankful that Jonos had been accompanying them during their race, for he would have been the one cleaning and cooking the kitchens with Old Bessy and her scullery maids. Jonos though younger was a fierce one in the training yards and had taken a round with Jon. He would be a fine warrior someday.  

Harrion however though talented with the sword was taller and much broader and bigger than Jon. Though that was advantageous, it made him slower and less reactionary, though the prince knew that if Harry’s blows had caught him, he would have been nursing his head with Maester Luwin.  

A quiet whimper brought him out of his thoughts, and Jon looked towards his left where Ghost slept soundly in his basket. Unlike the other Starks, Ghost was an albino and had already opened his eyes, and despite the three days since they had discovered the wolves he had already began to slowly walk. His steps were still timid, but they were certainly an advancement far exceeding the other pups, who had not even deigned to open their eyes.

Ghost was still resting, and Jon could see the wolf was moving his paws in the air slightly as he slept. He wondered if direwolves could dream just like people, and what they would dream of. Better yet, what would a pup dream of when they had little to think on? It was a silly wonder that Jon felt foolish of thinking of.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saws the letters piled upon each other on the table. Lazily, Jon blew a curl of dark hair away from his eyes and reached out to pull the letters towards him, careful to not let them drop over the edge.

The first letter was from Aegon. He was thankful that his brother even wrote to him at all, even if it were once or twice every two months. He would have thought Aegon’s views would have been manipulated by Rhaenys, who had never even deigned to compose for him a single word. Jon had felt hurt by that for so many years, but he had grown to accept that as reality. Dany had written that Rhaenys still blamed him for the death of her mother, and nothing would dissuade her of that notion.  

Jon was incredibly sorry for Aegon and Rhaenys for the burning of Elia Martell, but blaming him was ultimately an absurd notion. He had grown sick in King’s Landing for having to beg forgiveness for actions that he had not committed. At the age of five, be it or not. He was not responsible for her death nor would he ever wish Aerys to not burn in all the seven hells, but the sins of the father could not be incurred upon the son. It was Rhaegar illicit elopement that had caused the civil war.

_Be angry at him, not me._

Aegon’s letter was brief, but he did mention that he had visited Storm’s End with their father and Rhaenys a month ago. Lord Stannis Baratheon was the Lord of Storm’s End, and was Lord of the Stormlands. Jon had never met the man, but from Aegon described him he had been dour and serious, extremely stiff and had continually ground his teeth when speaking with the King and his children. His wife and children however were a different sort altogether.

Lady Ashara apparently was still cheerful and merry, and despite the odds seemed to care deeply for her husband. Jon assumed that being as stern as he was, Lord Stannis would have been a faithful and astute husband. Their children were all lively and eager to please the royal children as well.

Other than that, the only noting thing Aegon wrote was that father had given him a newly forged steel sword. Jon tried not to feel envious. Of course Aegon would get to practice with live steel. He was a year older than Jon, and apparently a very skilled warrior on his own merit. He wondered when his half-brother would become a knight.

The second letter gave him a greater joy than he would have thought. It was from Daenerys. Out of everyone in King’s Landing that he had known, Jon had loved Daenerys the best. She had been four the last time he had seen her with his own eyes, but they had always been as thick as thieves despite their tender age. Leaving Dany had been one of the few to sadden him about fostering at Winterfell.

He was thankful that she had remained ever vigilant in sending him letters. She and Aegon were in essence his remaining links to the south with exception to Barristan and his Targaryen heritage. Robb always teased him about the lightening of his mood when a letter from Dany was given to him by Luwin, but he all Jon was grateful for was that he had family that he would consider a friend in the city.

As much as Robb poked fun at him, Jon did not hold those feelings towards her. He only considered her as an aunt and as a friend. Under Targaryen tradition, he might have been given the chance to marry her, but Jon felt repulsed by the notion. He was the blood of the First Men as well as the blood of the Freehold. He adhored the notion of incest, and prayed that his father did not betroth him to his aunt or sisters. Especially Rhaenys.

The letter from Dany was a little longer than Aegon’s, though she wrote nothing that he did not already know. He realised with how frequently she wrote, nothing of importance or prominence might have transpired between their last letter. She just wrote on what ministrations and tasks she had been doing in King’s Landing, with her ladies and with her friends. What she wrote wasn’t particularly riveting, but Jon enjoyed reading it all the same.

* * *

The next few hours passed quickly as Jon drew a bath and had some time for reflection by himself before changing into attire appropriate for dinner. He had already visited his mothers tomb in the morning, so all that was left was dinner. After inspecting grey and blue colored wool tunic, Jon went by himself to the Great Hall. Most would already be preparing to dine in the hall, save for Lord and Lady Stark who would appear last and would signify when it was appropriate to commence eating. 

The wide door made of oak and iron was opened for him as he made himself into the dining hall. The hall was very large and enclosed with grey stone, and was covered brim with the white banners of House Stark. Inside were two long rows of trestle table, joined together in the middle of the room. On the raised platform was the table where the members of House Stark would seat during meals in the hall. It was also where he sat as well, as he was a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and half a Stark himself. 

"Cousin." He looked upon and saw Robb approach him, a huge smile on his face. 

Jon looked around, and realised that Jonos was not present in the hall. As a highborn, he would sit down directly below the Starks with Harrion and other noble servants, like Jory, Vayon Poole, Barristan or Rodrik. 

"Where-?"

"Still in the kitchen," Robb answered, as if reading Jon's mind. "You should have seen it Jon. It was marvelous. All the maids and serving boys were laughing at him...he was so shy and timid asking Bessy. Arya was losing her mind laughing."

"Ah, sorry to have missed it." Jon said, walking with Robb to their seats. 

"Oh, it is fine, we all know what you were really wishing to do anyway," Robb grinned cheekily at him. "How is the lovely and beautiful Princess Daenerys Targaryen doing? What is this, letter number six hundred and fifty three?"

"Very funny, and I hope Alys hears you say that when you two are about to wed," Jon nodded in acknowledgement to a passing servant who bowed his head towards him. "Daenerys is the same. Nothing has changed. She is just writing to me for the sake of it now. I am very grateful. Aegon wrote to me as well. Him and Rhaenys went to Storm's End a few months ago."

"How interesting." Robb's tone indicated that he was in fact not interested at all. 

When Jon and Robb reached the high table, he almost groaned when Sansa Stark stood up from her seat and gave a graceful curtesy to him.

"My prince, I hope you have had a pleasant day in the castle," Sansa said to him demurely, "I heard that you best Robb in the training yards again. I applaud your victory, you're grace."

Jon sighed. "Sansa, how many times have I told you: you don't have to call me Prince. Or Lord, or Your Grace. That's my father, gods be good. We are family. You can call me Jon."

"Of course, my prince, but I'm afraid I cannot. It would not be very ladylike of me to act so informally with a prince of your upbringing. I won't be as discourteous as Arya. You are a prince of the blood, and I have to treat you like a prince no matter if we are cousin or not."

 _Arya isn't discourteous. She treats me like a normal person._ But Jon could not stay mad at Sansa. She was innocent and naive in that way, believing so much in her tales of honour, chivalry and adventure. She was more inclined towards a woman of the Reach than a woman of the North, if Jon was honest with himself. Sansa was a very pretty girl, and would grow up to be a very beautiful woman, with thick auburn hair, vivid blue eyes and high cheekbones. 

"Alright, Sansa, but my name is Jon." 

Near Sansa was Bran. Bran was a good boy, and from what Aegon wrote about Aenar, he suspected his half-brother was similar to his cousin in more ways than one.

"Jon, I know it's been a few days, but thank you. Thank you for convincing father to spare the pups." Bran said to him eagerly.

"I did nothing to convince him -  I only reminded him about what animal graces the banner of your house," Jon replied. "Where is Arya?"

 She was not here. At the high table she usually sat next to Bran, directly between him and Rickon. He knew she didn't like that. She preferred to be near Robb and him, but that was on the right side of Lord Eddard.

Bran shrugged, "I have no idea. Last time I saw her she was running with her wolf in her hands. I shouted for her not to trip, but she ignored me."

"Hm," Jon was not concerned about Arya. When something piqued her interest, she usually forgot about everything else in her mind. He supposed something similar had happened to her now, because she usually enjoyed having dinner. "Have you named your direwolf yet?"

Bran blew air through his mouth, huffing as he shook his head, "No. I wish I had thought of Ghost or Grey Wind. I mean, my direwolf isn't white likes yours, but Ghost is a good name. At least whatever I come with will be better than Shaggydog."

"Shaggydog?" The voice of his little cousin Rickon sprang in the air as he looked excitedly at them. "Where's Shaggy? He's in his rooms, is he out?"

"Your stupid dog is still in his rooms, Rickon," Bran chortled. "Shaggydog. What a name."

"Shaggydog is a good name!" Rickon protested, banging his hand against the table loudly. 

"It is. Shush Bran," Robb chided, looking at him warningly. 

Jon was about to speak when he heard the room fall silent as Vayon Poole stood by the door. 

"Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark." He announced, as the doors were opened.

In a lords attire, his uncle walked in with his wife, their arms linked together as they slowly walked down the aisle clearing. _The Quiet Wolf,_ they called him in the south, inheriting the lands, titles and betrothed that Jon's uncle Brandon had once been set to inherit before the Mad King had killed him. Lord Eddard wasn't a particularly striking man, with a long, solemn face, grey eyes that shifted depending on his mood and long dark brown hair that went up to his shoulders. Although lean and muscular, his uncle was relatively smaller than most Northern lords that Jon had encountered.

Despite that, Lord Stark was one of the best men that Jon had ever met. His uncle was such a good man, so honourable and dutiful towards his family and an intelligent lord of the north. He had no ambitions towards the south, and only seemed to rule his lands in peace. No aspirations for power, no veiled extensions of branches for the signalling of alliance, Ned Stark was a simple man who ruled a simple land. He took action swiftly, and did not waver nor falter from his duty. Jon loved his uncle dearly. Even if a few of his bannermen did not. He had been more of a father to him than Rhaegar could have ever been. Five years in the Capitol had been all Jon had needed to see what type of father Rhaegar had been.

 _A prince should ignore the things courtiers speak of him. Forget and ignore. You are not the only one they speak ill of, Jon._ His father had once told him. Jon had taken half of that advice. He could ignore the goadings and laughter, but he would never forget. 

Lady Catelyn walked beside him. Jon cared for the lady of Winterfell very deeply. She was a good and beautiful woman, looking very much like Sansa with auburn hair, blue eyes and a graceful, womanly. Jon was glad that he had been sent to Winterfell before his father had married Cersei Lannister. Catelyn had been like a mother to him despite having her own children, treating her very much like her own son. Praising him when he did things right, scolding him when he committed wrong. 

_Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn. Good parents, good nobles, good people._

When the two reached the high table, Jon and the rest of the Stark children raised themselves from their seats and bowed.

"Father, mother." The four of them said simultaneously.

"Uncle, aunt." Jon respectfully said. 

Catelyn Stark looked across the faces of them before shaking her head in exasperation when her eyes rested on Arya's empty seat.

"Seven save me, where is my daughter? Is she mucking around in the stables again, or is she playing swords with the brewer's son this time? That girl...I try to make her a lady, but she ignores everything I ask of her. And now I hear from Mordane that she misses her lessons again. What am I do do with her?"

"Leave her be, Cat. She is just a little girl. My sister was similar to Arya in that way. But if you wish, I will talk with her later about proper conduct when it is time for dinner. I will need to get someone to search for her." Lord Eddard said.

"Thank you, my lord. It is for her sake, not mine." 

After sending a guard to look for Arya, Lord Eddard's face lost some of its colour. He looked at his lady wife, "I had been hoping to wait till _everyone_ was present, but it can't wait any longer. Everyone needs to know, especially Jon."

 _What are you talking about,_ Jon thought to himself, staring at his uncle curiously.

"Ned, we can wait after dinner. Not even Barristan or Harrion is here, though gods know where Karstark is. Let everyone have their fill from the kitchens before telling them." Lady Catelyn said.

His cousins were looking between him and their parents in bewilderment. Jon had no idea what the two were referring to each other about. Was something wrong? Had something happened? 

_Is this to do with the letter Jon Arryn had sent?_

"No...no, most everyone is here, and Barristan already knows," Eddard turned to regard Jon and his cousins thoughtfully. "My children, Jon, sit."

They followed his command. Ned turned himself to address all those convened in the hall. Most were already looking at Lord Eddard, waiting for the signal to eat and sait their appetite. Unfournately, that signal would not come because Lord Eddard began to speak.

"My good people of Winterfell, some of you may have already heard from another, but we have received a Raven from King's Landing. My foster father, Lord Jon Arryn, sent me a letter telling me of something important that will happen in the following month."

There were many murmurs that ran through the fifty or so people present in the hall. Jon was so damn curious. His uncle seemed a little on edge and more sullen than ever. 

_Is Lord Jon coming here? I am sure Uncle will be excited to hear that._

Ned Stark paused for a moment, letting silence fill the room once more before sayings words that would change Jon's life forever. "Lord Jon Arryn has informed me that King Rhaegar Targaryen will be travelling north to visit Winterfell in a month's time. Not only will he be coming with his Kingsguard, many of his court will be present in his entourage. Including the Queen...and the other Royal children and the King's sister."

For a moment, Jon was not sure he had heard it correctly. His ears were failing him, he was not hearing things the right way. _No, my father isn't coming here, he hasn't visited Winterfell since...he absconded with my mother._

But from the sudden reaction of everyone around him, he realised that he had heard what his uncle had said as clear as day. The room had exploded in recoil, and as Lord Eddard tried to calm people down, Jon saw Sansa gasp near him, her face brightening in glee. Bran was buzzing excitedly in his seat, his hands shaking in excitement. Rickon did not seem to understand what his father had said, staring blankly at the back of Lord Eddard's head. Beside him, Robb's face had paled. He turned his head towards Jon.

"Jon...did you know? Did you know that your father...he's coming here. Your brothers and sisters, and your aunt. To Winterfell. Gods, did you know?"

Jon tried to respond, but the words would not escape him. His face was numb, and he could feel his palms burning. It was like his whole world was falling apart. 

They were riding north. Up the Kingsroad, through Moat Cailin, through Torrhen's Square, to the northern gates. His family - the people he had not seen for almost ten years - they were coming here. He had not even imagined this as a reality. 

 _Aegon, Visenya, Aenar...Daenerys. My father. My family, and the rest of the court. The Queen and Rhaenys, here in Winterfell._ _By the old gods help me._

"No-no-Robb. I didn't-"

His next words were taken out of his mouth by the sudden creaking of the opening oak and iron doors. Everyone stopped their conversations to look at the person who slipped through the door as quick as a water dancer, holding her little direwolf pup in her arms triumphantly for all to see. Behind her, the guard send to look for her was panting, his face red.

Arya Stark grinned brightly, not noticing the attention everyone was directing towards her. "She opened her eyes! Nymeria finally opened her eyes!" Arya exclaimed, cuddling the grey furred pup. "Take that, Sansa. My wolf may not be a Lady, but my wolf can at least see."

There was a pregnant pause as Arya looked up to see everyone staring at her. Her excitedly gushing long face fell as she saw her mother's face flush with embarrassment and anger.

"Did I miss something?" She asked. "It seems like I did,"

Jon was gaping at her along with the other Stark children, though his mind was far from in the hall. 

_Rhaegar Targaryen. First of His Name. Why he is coming here? What does he want from Lord Eddard Stark? Better yet, does does he want from me?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha, the end there is kind of me trying to finish this chapter as quickly as possible. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you have any questions feel free to ask.


	3. CHAPTER III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter than usual. This is just a little bridging chapter. Ned gauges Jon's thoughts. Arya reflects on the situation. Bran fulfills his ambition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be long and impactful, for the King and his party will be arriving. Also, I will have the next one done by the end of the week. I hope people aren't too disappointed with little in terms of plot being advanced in this chapter.
> 
> Minor retcons of things in this chapter - very little consequence (just like the ages of some OC characters and Lyanna naming Jon.

* * *

* * *

 

**EDDARD**

The crypts of Winterfell were darker and more chillier than the fortnight ago Eddard Stark had visited. The cavernous vault was larger than Winterfell itself, accessed by the old and heavy ironwood door located near the First Keep. As Ned strode carefully through the narrow and winding stone steps that led down to the multiple levels of the catacombs, the lantern he held above his forehead swayed in his arms, the cold breaths of the crypt brushing past him as he made his way to where he needed to be.

When he reached the bottom of the steps, Ned noticed the flickering light of the lantern had braced the stone floor he walked, illuminating slightly the long procession of granite pillars that surrounded him.

In between these pillars lay the remains of the old Lords of Winterfell that had ruled the North before him. Ned’s ancestors watched over him with long and solemn faces, their statues carved with their likeness as they sat in their high seats. He recognized many of these lords, as well as the iron longsword that were laid across the laps. Their grey, blind eyes stared out in the darkness, while great direwolves of stone lay at their feat, guarding their masters protectively in the face of death.

It was so quiet in the crypt that Ned could hear his footsteps echo throughout the vault. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought himself to be the only person in this place.

Ned slowed his movements as he made his way closer to where he wanted, and lifted the oil lantern. Ahead of him, the crypt continued on, but the tombs that lay in waiting were empty and unsealed; waiting for the deaths of Robb, his other children and himself. That was a thought that Ned did not like to ponder on.

He stopped as he lowered his lantern, and looked at the three tombs in front of him. His father, his eldest brother and his sister, all side by side where they belonged. It was not tradition for relatives of the Lords of Winterfell to be buried with statues, but that was one of many things that Ned was willing to forsake for his family.

Lord Rickard’s statue reflected him well, sitting with the quiet dignity and sternness that his father had emanated to his children and people. His bones lay to rest in his tomb, though charred as they may have been from Aerys’ madness.

Beside his father to both his sides were his children. Brandon had been tall and powerful, a true northman and the heir to Winterfell. He had been quite similar to Robert in his personality, and with his rugged and sturdy statue, a ghost of a smile crept on Ned’s lips as he gazed at the strong likeness of his brother protecting his entombed remains.  

To Lord Rickard’s right lay his daughter Lyanna. Lyanna Stark, the she-wolf of Winterfell. Lyanna, who had only been sixteen when she had died, a woman of such fierceness and loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart and soul. He would always regret never being by her side when she had passed away, As much pain Rhaegar had caused his family, he was thankful that he had at least sent her remains north with Ned following the end of the civil war. That was one of the two courtesies the Targaryen King had done for House Stark at least.

The boy kneeling quietly and bowing his head directly beside her sepulchre caused Ned’s heart to ache in shame. Ned had loved his sister since the day she had been born, and had clear memories of her even to this day. His nephew had only the bare fleeting of a remembrance of his mother, and could only grasp in his attention to her memory with what Ned and others who knew her could give him.

He was always so desperate and wanting in wishing to know about his mother, and Ned tried his best every time to supplement him with what he wanted. However, he always thought it was never enough, even if Jon said otherwise.

Ned had known Jon would be here. Even without Robb or Arya he would have been aware of Jon’s whereabouts. It had been a day since he had announced the King’s impending visit to Winterfell. The hall had been abuzz with much sound and activity it had been hard for Ned to focus on his surroundings, and to think on future circumstance. Ned had regretted his actions almost immediately afterwards. He felt foolish for not having spoken to Jon privately, informing him of the contents of Jon Arryn’s letter and what they meant to him.

It had been selfish of him to not have informed Jon. He should have told Jon first. His nephew had deserved to know beforehand, and not be caught so off guard at the feast.

“Jon.” Ned said, breaking through the sullen quiet.

“Lord Eddard.” His nephew spread out his shoulders and straightened himself, lifting himself up to his feet. Jon turned to face him, and Ned’s eyes caught glimpse of the flower grasped in his hand. It was a bloomed blue winter rose, freshly grown in the moist warmth of the glass gardens of Winterfell. They were also his sister’s favorite flowers. Lyanna had loved their scent especially.

Jon seemed to catch Ned’s downward glance, for he continued, “The last flower we placed in the hand of her statue had shriveled, so I brought down a new one. I had wanted to do it earlier, but I lost track of time and-”

“You do not have to explain yourself to me, Jon,” Ned interjected. “If need be, I can leave and speak with you privately in your chambers. I would hate to interrupt your time here.”

“No, my lord. It is fine. I am almost finished paying my respects,” Jon took the old crumpled flower and switched in place with the new one. “I just came down here to think. I know the godswood is a better place for quiet reflection, but Robb and the others are praying there and I just wanted to be alone.”

“I understand. Your mother lies here after all, as well as your uncle and grandfather. Even in death our loved ones can give us the comfort and guidance we need to prosper in the world around us.” Ned stepped forward and brushed his fingers against the cheek of his sister’s statute, smiling softly.

“Arya is waiting for you outside near the entrance of the crypts, you know. She wanted to come with me to speak with you, but I asked her not too. She means well, but I think she would distract your from your own musings. With everything that is happening - and what _will_ happen - well, you would need time to yourself.”

His daughter loved Jon fiercely, in such a passionate way that it bordered dangerously close to something more than simple familial affection.

At first glance, it would seem they were almost nothing alike. Jon was more solemn and quiet with his thoughts and actions, while Arya burned with a brightness and ferocity that could not be tamed. And his lady wife had tried, Ned was certain of that.

Jon and Arya however were similar in the fact that they both were more Stark in appearance that any of Ned’s other children, and both ignored the conventions placed upon them in their stations of nobility. Jon disliked being a Prince, and Arya found her position as a Lady a detriment. Ned supposed Arya was devoted to her cousin as he did not treat her like a noblewomen. He cared for her like family.

Arya’s birth had been the point of Jon’s acceptance of Winterfell as his home as well. Eddard remembered the shy and quiet boy opening himself up to the Starks after he had held his newborn cousin in his arms, seeing her long face and sullen eyes so similar to his own staring back at him.

Through the light, Ned could see Jon’s mouth shift into a small smile, “Of course. I am grateful above all else that Arya cares about me that much. She...she and Robb understand out of everyone. Sansa, Bran, Rickon: Rickon is only three, Bran worships knighthood and chivalry, and Sansa adores anything relating to nobility and honour. They don't understand what this visit means. I wish I was naive like them in that way too. I wish I could be excited for my father visit like them.”

Ned nodded in understanding. Jon was only fourteen, but he was sharp and clever enough to realise the implications of this visit. In two months, the boy he had been raising like his own son would leave Winterfell. Even if he wanted to or not, he had no choice in that matter.

“Your father misses you, Jon,” Ned offered. “Lord Arryn wrote in his letter that he wishes to see you with his own eyes. I know he has been distant these past ten years, but he does care for your well being,”

_He wouldn't have sent you north if he hadn't._

Jon sighed, “It may be my own self-serving, but I wish he had just sent letters to Winterfell. I love you, uncle, and I consider you like a second father. However, it is sad that my relationship with my uncle is a thousand times stronger and more appreciative with love and affection than with my own father. He is a busy man as King, but I had hoped he would have tried to establish a connection between us. Maybe I should have been the one to extend that branch.”

“No, Jon, you are not wrong in your way of thinking,” Ned said, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “He is your father. No matter if you were trueborn or a bastard, he conceived you with my sister. He has his other children in King’s Landing - he should have made a better effort with you. Or at least put in effort.”

“I am sounding so repetitive, uncle. I do not like myself wallowing in this. Lately I have been reflecting on my life and family without prompt. It becomes a persistent thought nagging in my mind, especially when a letter from the south from Daenerys or Aegon is handed to me. I shouldn't be thinking these thoughts. I had a good life in Winterfell. I am luckier than so many people to be Prince, and here I am complaining about my father ignoring me.”

“He's not ignoring you, Jon. Otherwise, he would not be riding here as we speak.”

Ned did not think to know what Rhaegar’s processes of thought entailed, but he suspected that his strained fatherhood with Jon still lingered with the memory of Lyanna. He couldn't think of any other reason. Jon had been a quiet and dutiful boy even when he had ridden through the northern gates, and had been respectful and tact to everyone he had come across. At that age, what more could you want in the foundations of a child?

No, it had to be about Lyanna. It couldn't be anything else.

“I suppose you are right, uncle,” Jon turned his head back to look at Lyanna’s tomb. “If I may ask, what is it that you wanted to speak with me about?”

Ned breathed in slowly, his hands trembling slightly from the coldness of the crypts. “I was concerned for you. We all were. You left the hall after dinner stricken with confusion and bewilderment. Catelyn was worried that you had failed to comprehend what was happening.”

“I am fine, Lord Stark.”

“And...I wanted to apologize Jon.”

Jon’s head spun towards him, his grey eyes widening. “What?”

“I am sorry, Jon,” Ned told him. “"I am for unloading all this on you, especially during dinner. That was stupid of me. I know that now, I should have spoken with you privately beforehand. Catelyn warned me to do so, but for some reason I did not listen to the sound reasoning of my wife. Your current conflicted thoughts...I should have been there to help you resolve them from the beginning.”

"No, uncle, it's perfectly fine. I understand. You do not have to explain yourself to me - your reasons are your own,” Jon was trying to reassure him. “To be perfectly honest, I am glad I only found out with the rest. I don't think I could have have held that secret close to my chest so easily as Barristan did."

That was a lie, but it was a simple and well-meaning one. Ned could tell Jon was bothered by it, no matter how well he tried to conceal it. He could see it in the grey eyes that Lyanna had given him.

“Thank you, Jon. For understanding my selfishness.”

“You were not being selfish, my lord. I know you were doing your best to protect me. You always are, as well as Barristan and everyone here at Winterfell. At least now, I am on equal footing with Robb, Jonos, Harry and the rest.”

Ned looked down at him, “Despite everything else, I would think you were enlivened to see your family again. You share frequent letters with Prince Aegon and Princess Daenerys after all.”

At that, Jon’s face brightened in the brief lapse of light, “Yes. Aegon does not send me as many letters as Daenerys, but he is at least willing to communicate. Even Visenya and Aenar. I have not even seen my younger half-siblings. I hear that they are growing to be good people. It will be nice to see them all after all this time, and listen to their opinions of the North and Winterfell.”

Ned noted to himself that Jon had refrained from mentioning his older half-sister. He had often suspected that their relationship was embittered, but he had never broached it to his nephew. He did not think of it his place.

“We all have our duties to fulfill, Jon. I am sure your father has something planned for you in the south. Perhaps a stronghold to rule?”

“Possibly. Sorry, uncle, I keep placing all my wishes and thoughts into you in such a sudden manner, but do you remember when I wanted to join the Night’s Watch as a boy? Do you also remember when I told you about my father’s flat dismissal of that notion. Even when I broached the topic again, he sent a letter to you and not to me.”

“What of it?”

“I just...I think your thought of him having a plan for me is lent more credence because of that. I have no idea why my father wants me back. There has to be something more than he is suggesting. It cannot be a simple fatherly desire.”

What Jon had said brought Ned’s mind back to something that he had talked to Rhaegar about so long ago.

_“What would happen if Jon wishes to join the Night’s Watch? He is a second son, and stands to inherit little when you pass, Rhaegar. The Wall would welcome him if he wishes to pledge himself to Castle Black. Would you deny him that as well?” Ned had asked him when Rhaegar had allowed Jon to foster in the north._

_“He is forbidden from joining the Night’s Watch,” Rhaegar had said to him on the walls of Pyke, the steely undertones of his voice sharpening. The salty winds carried from the sea blew through the King’s long, silver-blonde hair. “I respect the black brothers. My great uncle is part of that institution. But Jon’s place in the world is not with them. He may be a second son, but Lyanna did not sacrifice her life for Jon so he could be a watcher on the wall. He has a greater part to play.”_

Ned shook the sudden memory from his mind. That was from long ago, when they had broken down the gates of Pyke and forced the surrender of Balon Greyjoy.

“That may be so, Jon, but you should not think on that right now,” Ned said, trying to sound as soothing as his wife when she attempted to calm one of their children, “Your leave from Winterfell is still months away. Jon, I want you to enjoy these next two months in Winterfell and the north as best as you can.

“I doubt Rhaegar will disallow you from visiting this place again, but the next time will be in the distant future. Spend time with your cousins and friends, and cherish these moments. Do not think on the visit. If you have any pressing matters, you are always welcome to speak with me.”

“I will, Lord Stark. I promise.”

Ned did not know what else Rhaegar had in mind during his visit to the north, but he did not think it had anything to do with House Stark. If he could, he would speak with the King about a northern marriage for Jon.

If he was bold enough, he would also ask about Bran possibly squiring under a knight of the Kingsguard as well. It had been a decision that he had thought long on. Bran wished to be a knight, and practiced so hard with his swordplay. Initially, Ned had thought to send him to foster with a knight of House Manderly, but the more Ned observed Barristan teaching Jon and Robb he thought better of it.

He had already talked with Barristan, and the knight had been willing to accept his son as his charge. It best however to wait after Rhaegar came to send his son south as well.

“Come, Jon. You should not be alone for too long. You have family and friends that you should speak with. And my daughter is insistent on seeing you.”

It was then Ned remembered he needed to speak with Arya about her misconduct yesterday. He had promised his wife that he would talk with his daughter. He would. He was obligated to.

_I will talk with her later._

Jon grinned, “Of course she is. She will be curious to death about what is happening. She knows how I feel about all this, but I wonder if she knows that I am going to leave after these next two months.”

With that, Ned and his nephew began walking back to where they came from, their footsteps falling light and steady.

“I would not deign to presume anything about Arya in a strong fashion, but I would think so. Even then, it would be welcome to let her gently be aware of what will happen. I am placing that in your hands, Jon. Arya can...overreact sometimes.”

Jon chuckled, “Uncle, you underestimate her. Arya is not the wild she-wolf that everyone thinks she is. She is a lot more understanding than people give her credit. People compare her negatively to Sansa, but they do not see the iron-will determination and logic that she possesses that supersedes anything they have. She will see sense in what I am saying. I know she will. Just like Robb, we know each other too well.”

* * *

**ARYA**

“You cannot be serious, Jon.” Arya exclaimed, taking a step back. “Father never said anything about you leaving. You cannot be leaving. You are not.”

“I am afraid it's true, little cousin.” Jon looked down at the scurrying people of Winterfell, leaning against the edge of the window. They were inside the Bell Tower, overlooking directly above the stables and the inner courtyard of Winterfell. Maester Luwin allowed the Stark children to stay in the tower whenever they wished, though he always extracted a phrase of High Valyrian from them every time. A few levels above them, Luwin’s rookery was fluttering as Ravens were being sent out across the grey sky to all the various lords and ladies of the north. They would need to be informed to the King’s visit.

Given the history between the north and the Targaryens, Arya highly doubted that many would be happy about it. She certainly was not. How could she, when her favourite person in the world was due to be leaving. It saddened her further that she would not be be accompanying him to King’s Landing either.

She could not believe it. No, she refused. What was the point of Jon leaving now?

“Just because your father is riding here with half his court, that doesn't mean you are going back to the city. Father did not tell the rest of us that.” Arya said.   

Jon shook his head. “Your father told me. I thought you would understand...like he said, Lord Jon Arryn sent him a letter. But, Lord Arryn explicitly said in his letter that my father wants me to come back to the south. Anyway, even if he did not mention this, it would be obvious.”

“How so?” Arya clenched her fists together, her arms falling down to her waist. “He could just be visiting Winterfell. Do you not have an uncle at the Wall?”

“Who, Uncle Benjen?”

Arya hit him on the knee. “No, stupid, a Targaryen great great grand uncle. What was his name - Aegon? Aemon? He may wish to see him for something.”

“If my father wanted to speak with Aemon Targaryen, then he could have just exchanged a raven. Or better yet, he could have rode with a small party instead of the large entourage travelling through the kingsroad as we speak. No, he is coming here to take me back.”

Arya was taken aback. It was hard for her to comprehend what Jon was telling her. Her mother had wished to speak with her, but Arya had evaded her clutch to speak with her cousin. She had known the King’s visit would bother him. Jon did not share the same relationship with his father that Arya was fortunate to share with hers.

“But-but,” Arya bit her lip and lowered her head. “I do not want you to leave, Jon. You are not just my cousin, but you are my friend. You're the only one who truly understands me.”

When she lifted her gaze towards him, she noticed that the grey eyes they shared had softened considerably, though his face seemed redder than it had previously.

Jon cleared his throat and replied, “That...that is kind of you to say, Arya. I am not leaving now - I have two more months to stay at Winterfell. Besides, I will definitely visit you when I can. Robb is marrying Harrion’s sister in a few years time; definitely I will attend the wedding at Winterfell.”

“Two months is not enough time at all,” Arya said. “I don't understand why your father wants you back. He didn't even send you any letters. He sent Barristan ravens, but not you. He doesn't even care about you, yet he's taking you away from the people who do.”

Arya would have continued, but she stopped speaking when she saw Jon’s face tighten. She had said something he had not liked. Unlike her mother, or Sansa or on the rare occasion Robb, Jon never would visibly or audibly be mad with her. He was similar to her father in that way. Her father would never raise his voice when scolding her, but it was apparent from his expression that he was disappointed in her. Always, that made it worse.

“Jon, I am sorry if I said something to-”

“It's fine, Arya,” Jon raised his hand, cutting her off. “I understand what you are trying to say, and why you are upset. You are right somewhat, even if the truth hurts. This whole situation is not ideal for me as well. Just remember that. You are not the only one who will lose something from this.”

It dawned on her that he was telling the truth. She felt so foolish. Winterfell had been her cousin’s home for ten years. He had lived in the grand northern castle for a year longer than even her, and Arya had been born in the Stark stronghold and raised here. At least she was staying home. Jon was being torn from a place he considered his own, and being forced to go back to King’s Landing.

The capital was a place that Arya had heard much about. Sansa or her stupid friends would have a person believe that the city and the court was a magnitude of majestic beauty and yonder. A place where thousands of lords fought numerous tournaments and melees for the favour of their treasured noblewomen, who were themselves adjourned with flowing and beautiful silks and were chaste and humble. The King and his children were all graceful, beautiful and kind, and strove for love and happiness for the Seven Kingdoms.

To Sansa, King’s Landing was the epitome of traditional chivalry and femininity.

Jon told a different story of the city.

 _“King’s Landing is not the place you think it is, Sansa,”_ Arya remembered Jon telling her elder sister when Sansa and a smitten Jeyne Poole had asked him stories from the capital. _“The city stinks, and is dangerous. Many people there are not honourable or chivalrous, and many not even handsome. Quite many noblewomen are also not chaste and compassionate southern flowers - they will do whatever it takes to position themselves in power. They may wish you good fortune, but they will plot behind your back. Also, my father has little interest in tourneys. Small wonder why, considering what happen at Harrenhal.”_

 _“How do you know that, my prince? I wonder, you were only five years old when you left King’s Landing. You have a good memory, my prince, but I doubt you could even recall much of the detail from that time.”_ Sansa had responded, her eyes batting prettily at him _._

Arya had wished to smack her sister in the head, but Jon had smiled and told her, _“I may have been young, but you do not realise what someone with parents that started a war experiences in the land where he is looked down on. Besides, twice a month I exchange letters with a princess and the crown prince, my lady. They are my family. They tell me so much about I doubt they would lying about their own experiences in the city. With the exception of Daenerys and my younger siblings, the royal family isn't as innocent as you would think.”_

 _You are being selfish._ Arya chastised herself. _Do not ruin this for him. Not now, when time is precious._

So caught in her thoughts that Arya had not realised that Jon was calling her attention.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying, Jon?” Arya asked, dismissing that moment of time from her mind.

Jon laughed aloud, a low sound from his throat that made Arya unconsciously tremble, and reached out to muss her hair. Arya didn't stop him this time. “Absent minded again, little cousin? You remind me of Bran before we found the direwolves.”

The mention of the pups brought a smile to her face. Nymeria and the rest of her siblings were still pups, but her direwolf had opened her eyes before any of them. Besides Ghost, of course, but he was very different from the rest of the grey litter that she did not count the albino pup. Arya loved her Nymeria. She was a beautiful pup, and she hoped that the wolf would eventually grow to live up to her namesake.

 _“_ Bran is thinking ao high about this own visit. Bran thought my wolf’s name was stupid. He didn't realize that she was named after the Rhoynar warrior-princess. I told him to shut up. At least my wolf had a name.”

“Harsh, Arya.”

"Harsh is what you describe when Ser Barristan is besting everyone in the training yards." Arya retorted.

"Of course he would. He is one of the best warriors in the realm. Even Arthur Dayne without Dawn would not be able to defeat him." Jon said. 

 _The Sword in the Morning vs the Bold._ That was a fight that Arya would die to see. Perhaps she would, when the royal party arrived at Winterfell. Arya especially wanted to see Dawn, the ancestral greatsword of House Dayne that was said to be forged from metal found within the heart of a fallen star. Only a knight of House Dayne who is worthy can wield it.

"Well, there is something to await for when your family comes to our home. You should ask Barristan if he will fight Arthur Dayne. It will be a grand spectacle - the greatest battle between two swordsman the north had ever seen." Arya said, her eyes brightening. 

"What about the Dragonknight and Cregan Stark?" Jon asked.

"That happened in the south. That doesn't count," Arya said. "Besides that, I suppose you are happy with the royal family coming here for other reasons too. You get to see your half-siblings. As well as your lovely Princess Daenerys."

Arya was teasing Jon, and he blushed as she predicted. "She is not my 'lovely' Princess Daenerys, Arya. She is just Dany. She is my aunt and friend."

"She is apparently very beautiful. Definitely more than Sansa. Even more than the queen, they say," 'They' as in visitors from the south, the locals and the Winterfell men. "Who knows, you could marry her one day and come back to live at Winterfell."

"Don't say absurd notions, Arya. If anyone is going to marry Daenerys, it's Aegon. What a waste for her to marry me. I would rather a northern bride, but my father will never allow it. Better yet, his lords will never allow it."

"If your father allowed you to choose who you were to marry, who would you pick from the north, Jon?" Arya was curious to what her cousin had to say. Jon had visited many northern lords during his ten years in the north, and when she had accompanied him she had seen lords try to court the prince's hand. Robb was already betrothed, and Bran and Rickon were too young. Jon did not bear the Stark name, but he was a royal Prince who was half-Stark and legitimate. Fat lord Manderly had two granddaughters of age, while Jonos had a sister a year younger than Jon and Robb. Even her father's friend Lord Howland had a maiden daughter of age with her cousin. 

_As long as he doesn't marry Sansa, I do not care who his bride is._

Jon's eyes were set on her as he said, "What if I said  _you?"_

Arya almost flinched when she realized what he said, and felt her heart skip a beat. He did not sound false. In fact, he looked quite serious in his answer. 

"I would say to keep dreaming. I will never marry a Prince or a Lord." Arya replied, though she noticed her breath was slightly uneven as she spoke. 

Jon laughed at her answer and looked back to the window, gazeing contemplatively at the grey skies. “I was saying before that though I will miss this place, at least I will carry fond memories with me when I leave.”

“All of them about me, right?” Arya asked, her tone buoyant and joking. Her mind was still a little uneasy from what he had said before.  _Was he playing with me, or was he serious?_

Jon chortled, “Oh, of course, cousin. Every single one of them.”

“That's good. It's a shame you have to leave still. We will miss you. Even Rickon. At least you will not have to deal with Sansa’s constant idiocy, or that Septa’s strictness and devotion, or my mother’s needles worries about proper conduct.”

“It seems those are things are more directed towards you then me. Speaking of which, has your mother talked to you about your unexplained late arrival at the feast last night?”

Arya grinned sheepishly, “She wanted too, as well as speak about me not attending Mordane’s sewing lessons, but she seems to have been unable to find me today.”

Avoiding her mother had been difficult. She had sent Fat Tom and Little Joss after her, but she had managed to evade their jangly hands and had scurried across Winterfell. She had been tailing Jon since he had exited his chambers, and would have entered the crypts after him if her father hadn't appeared suddenly. She had thought herself done for after that, but her father had seemed unaware of what was happening and had merely asked her to not follow.

So far, Arya was safe.

Jon looked back at her, “Lady Catelyn will be furious if you do not go to her. She is already frustrated that you are not acting like a lady.”

“Let her be cross,” Arya said dismissively, “I am not a lady of the south - I'm a northern women. Not some southern dandy like Sansa. I shouldn't be doing needlework at all! I'm terrible at it anyway.”

Jon climbed down from the window. “Even so, you had best run back to your room. Your mother will surely be lurking. The longer you hide, the harsher punishment you will receive. Lord Stark will defer to his wife when it comes to punishment. Your mother will restrict you to your rooms when we train and play, and will only let you out to do needlework or talk with your supposed enemies. Even worse, the old Septa will demand your penance for your sins. You’ll be sewing all through winter, cousin.

“When the dream that is spring blossoms, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers at the base of the stairs of the Winterfell crypts.”

The emptiness of his voice as he spoke slightly scared her. “That is not funny, Jon.”

“I was not trying to be funny. I am completely serious. You might as well put some effort in your noble lessons. I train every day at swordplay, and do my lessons with Luwin with Robb and Jonos. I do not particular enjoy those lessons as much the swordplay, but I put as much effort as possible in them to please your father and mother. You should try to make your mother happy - she'll be more forgiving of you like she is with Sansa.”

 _There is nothing to forgive with Sansa. She never does anything wrong._ Arya thought bitterly. _It's too late for me now._

“I had best be off. I want to speak with Robb and the rest of the boys. I will see you later, Arya.” Jon patted her on the back gently and turned towards the exit.

“Wait. Let me come with you.” Arya demanded.

“Tough luck, cousin,” Jon said as he quickened his place down the stairs.

 _Damn him._ Arya watched him from the window dash off towards the godswood. _Damn him for making a little sense._

Arya knew that Jon was trying to be helpful, but she could not follow his advice. No matter how hard she tried being a lady, she would always be second fiddle to her sister. Sansa was better at her at everything when it came to nobility. Sansa was beautiful, courteous, graceful, a poet, a dancer, a singer. The pride and joy of their lady mother.

When it came down to practicality, she was bested by her younger sister. Arya was a much better horseback rider, a better student of their old Maester, was better at running a household. She was also a fighter and an archer, qualities that were non-existent with Sansa.

Sullenly, Arya plodded out of the tower and made her way back to her room, steeling herself from her mother who would be waiting. As long as she didn't take Nymeria away from her, she would turn the cheek and accept her scolding.

Somehow, what she found in her room was both worse and better than she had imagined. It was not only her mother in her room, but Septa Mordane as well. Arya would have ran away as soon as she had opened the door if she hadn't seen her father as well. 

* * *

 

**BRAN**

It was times like this that Bran loved being a Stark.

It had been three weeks since his father had announced the King's visit to Winterfell, and the entire castle was marked with a movement that Bran had not seen in his seven years. Preparations for the royal visit were undergoing. Tapestries were being spun, clothes were being dyed and tailored. The cooks were busy preparing an abundance of dishes, beverages and treats that would be served for the royal family, the accompanying lords and ladies as well as the servants, knights and sworn swords that would be serving the royal family.

Vayon Poole, Winterfell's steward, was preparing accommodations for the nobility in the Great Keep, and from Bran could gather every spare room was being used to serve the guests. Wintertown was also being refurbished for additional men and women who would not be afforded rooms in the castle. Whiles its streets were muddy, they lined with rows of houses made from log and undressed stone, and with the deserted nature of the town Jeyne's father had been able to find much space for the King's entourage to fill. 

Although Bran paid notice to it all, he did not give it much thought or attention. The anticipation of the King's visit was compounding, and the bubble of happiness within him expanded in his body with every passing day. While the idea of seeing the King and the other members of the royal family were appealing, it wasn't the thing that Bran was looking forward too the most.

Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, The Kingslayer, Kenneth Morrigen, Balon Swann _._ Knights of the Kingsguard, the legendary group sworn to protect the King and his family, would be present in Winterfell in a week's time. 

 _The Sword of the Morning. Here. In the castle with Barristan and the Kingslayer. Gods, could this get any better?_ Bran was not sure it could. These knights were the best warriors in the entire realm. Even his father, who was distrustful of the south and of knighthood, had nothing but praise when it came to most of the knights sworn in King Rhaegar's service. All, except the Kingslayer. Not even Barristan was fond of his sworn brother, though Bran was not sure why. He had saved the city from the Mad King, as well Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys. King Rhaegar would not have a city to rule if it had been for Jaime Lannister. 

Sometimes, it seemed that only Sansa and himself were excited for the King's visit. Rickon was too young to understand what was going on. His father seemed tense and much stiffer this past month, and even his mother was more anxious and more hotly tempered. They were both very busy. Jonos had suggested that they were both stressed and that they would return to normality once the King left, but it saddened Bran all the same. His father and mother didn't have time for him as much as he would have liked.

Even with his father's gradually forthcoming arrival, Jon seemed to be intentionally making himself ignorant towards the visit. Bran did not understand why Jon was not thrilled to see his family. It was made worse by the fact that Jon refused to tell him why. Robb, Harry and Jonos were aiding him in this notion, and Bran found it difficult to speak with them about the visit. They always waved him off when he tried to approach them about it, and were curt and dismissive. That hurt more than anything.

Arya was better. He had been able to talk with her about the knights coming with the King as well as guessing what the princes and princesses would be like in personality and appearance. She drew the line however when it came to speaking about Jon's apprehension towards the visit. Bran knew Jon confided in Arya more than she let on, and it was apparent in how quick she was to change the subject. Arya's closeness to Jon in that regard was something that Bran envied. He was indeed close with their cousin, but Jon shared something special with his older sister that Bran wished he had.

Sansa shared his sentiment of excitement for the visit to, which Bran had expected. She had shown him the gowns and dresses that had been prepared, all beautiful and embroidered as expected. Bran had never been close with Sansa. In fact, none of the Stark siblings had been. However, he was happy that at least one person seemed to be genuinely excited for what was to happen in a week or so's time. Even if their reasons for interest were different.     

The pup underneath his legs would not stop yipping at his feet. Bran tried pulling his silvery grey wolf-pup away from his legs and into his lap, but the energetic pup playfully bit his fingers lightly each time Bran's hands neared him. 

"Stop it, boy," Bran laughed at the wolf, who was panting with yellow eyes wide and fascinated. "You will give me scratches. Mother will be cross with you if you don't stop."

That did not seem to deter the wolf. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite effect to which Bran had intended. 

 _Wolf, pup, wolf, pup. A thousand names I have gone over and still I have not decided on what to call him._ None of the names he thought of were appropriate for his pup. He did not want to give his wolf a name that did not match. 

All the wolves had grown tremendously over the past few weeks, and the master of the kennels had told Bran, his siblings and Jon that their wolves would quicken in growth even more as the year went by. His wolf was near the size of a hound, yet still Bran could not decide a name for him.

_Robb has Grey Wind, Jon has Ghost, Sansa has Lady, Arya has Nymeria. Even Rickon has stupid Shaggydog._

Telling his wolf to stay put for the moment, Bran washed himself clean with the bowl of water the servants had poured and changed into a new tunic. He had just finished another day of training with Ser Rodrik.

Despite beating Rickard Dustin, the new arrival at Winterfell and a newly found friend, he had been distracted by Ser Barristan's private tutelage of Jon, Robb, Harry and Jonos. Robb had knocked Jon off his feet and defeated him in all three bouts, a victory he claimed in what seemed like forever. Bran's heart had swelled in pride for his brother. He had seemed so happy in beating Jon after a long period of defeats. The Heir to Karhold and the Heir to Barrowton had been chuckling, but Jon had recovered his pride however when he had defeated Harrion relatively soundly and broken Jonos' wooden sword.    

How desperately Bran wished to train with them. Ser Rodrik was a fine warrior, and an excellent instructor who pushed him to his limits. But Barristan Selmy was a knight of the Kingsguard. Bran was not old enough to train under the knight like Robb or Jonos, but he was old for one thing.  

 _I have to ask him before he leaves. If he rejects me, so be it. But if I do not, I will regret it to my dying day._     

"Come," Bran told his wolf, who's perked his head up as Bran motioned for him. "We are going to see Ser Barristan. Let's see if he will accept me as his squire."

The wolf growled quietly, and followed him as Bran began to run towards the old knight's room, which was located on the other side of the Great Keep. As he ran past servants, he swerved out of their way to avoid them. His wolf to be on its paws as well. The whole castle seemed to be moving. They still had a week to prepare for the king’s coming and still people were rushing about to apply their last touches to make Winterfell look resplendent for the King and his party. 

_Well, as resplendent as the north will allow anyway._

As Bran turned the corner, he bumped head first into someone's stomach. As Bran stepped back and rubbed his sore nose, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

"Damn, Bran. Watch where you are going," Bran looked up and realized that it was Robb. "You might kill someone with the speed that you were running."

Bran's wolf moved through his legs and went towards Grey Wind, who was beside his master to his right. The two wolf brothers rubbed their heads against their furs. 

"Sorry, Robb." It was then he noticed that there was a girl standing besides him, weighing him with her blue-grey eyes. She was tall and coltish, very slender and skinny at her thirteen years and quite pretty. Like many northern men and women, she had a long face, brown hair tied in a long braid down her shoulder, a pale complexion and a pointy chin, as well as smaller ears and short fingers. "Hello, Lady Alys."

Alys Karstark smiled at him. "No need to call me Lady, Bran. We will be brother and sister by marriage soon enough."

Alys was a nice girl, and had treated Bran with a friendly face and kind words since she had arrived with her father and two brothers Eddard and Torrhen a week before. Lord Rickard Karstark was at Winterfell along with Lord Willam Dustin and his family to see the royal family. Robb had been flustered when he had welcomed her to the castle, and had spent quite a bit of his free time with her as well.

"Hopefully sooner rather than later." Robb said, grinning at her. Bran noticed Alys' face reddening at that, though she was embarrassed by that.

"Where's Jon?" Bran asked, curious to why their cousin was not with Robb. The two had been incredibly close and together till now, especially with the news of the King's arrival. "You two have been thick as thieves these past few weeks."  

Robb grinned slyly. "Our dear cousin is escorting Lady Ryella Dustin around Winterfell. If all goes well and Jonos doesn't come across them, you might not see him for a long,  _long_ time. Lets just hope he remembers his honor while showing her the best sights in the castle."

Bran did not understand what Robb meant. Ryella Dustin was a beautiful girl and of age with Jon, with chestnut-brown curls that reached to the middle of her back and dark green eyes that she had inherited from her father. Bran had no opinion on her, for they had not spoken since her arrival two days beforehand. If she was anything like her brothers, he was sure he would be fond of her too. 

"Anyway, where are you heading off too, little brother?" Robb asked. "If you are looking for Rickard, he's in his rooms with Jonos recovering from the beating he received from a Stark sword."

"No, I want to speak with Ser Barristan. I want to ask him something." Bran responded.

"That old knight? I don't see what the big fuss is about him. He looks strong for his age, but looks like a quiet old man. Isn't he some war hero or something?" Alys asked.

Robb sighed, closing his eyes. His direwolf leaned his head forward to lick his master's fingers. "Here we go again." 

Bran looked at her aghast. How could she not know who Ser Barristan Selmy was? _Even_ Ironborn commoners knew who the Bold was, and they were detached from the Seven Kingdoms on a far greater extent that even the North. Alys was looking between Bran and Robb, and seemed to realize what she had said wrong. 

"Did I say something to offend?" 

Before Robb could respond, Bran told her, "It's impossible not to know who Selmy is. Barristan the Bold is one of the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms, and quite possibly the entire known world. At the age of sixteen, he received a knighthood from King Aegon the Fifth after unhorsing his son and Duncan the Tall of the Kingsguard at a tourney. He slew the Blackfyre pretender Maelys during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, ending the Blackfyre line for House Targaryen. He saved the Mad King from -"

"Enough, Bran. You look like you are demanding death. Your scaring my betrothed," Robb cut in with a warning look. "What does it matter to her who Barristan is? She's a lady - they don't care about that sort of thing."

Bran questioned that notion with the existence of Arya, but Alys seemed displeased by what Robb said. 

"You might be surprised, Robb. I grew up around boys my entire life. I know a thing or too about so called _men_ cares and fascinations."

Looking at Bran, she said, "I am sure plenty of people don't know who your knight is.  Wildlings probably don't know who Barristan Selmy is."

"But those are wildlings. They are all monsters and consort with dark spirits. They are not people like the rest of us." Bran said. 

Both Robb and Alys laughed at that. Bran did not what he said that was funny.

"I have to go," Bran said curtly, "I'll see you both later." He called for his wolf to follow and ran through in between them.

"Come on Bran, we were not laughing at you. You can believe what you want about the wildlings." Robb called out after him, but Bran ignored him as well as his wolf yipping at his heel.

Eventually, Bran found himself outside Barristan's chambers, his room closed and unguarded. He knew the knight was in his rooms, for Barristan would always polish and clean his armor and sword at this time of day. It was a habit that Bran had made note of. 

Scratching his wolf behind the year, Bran knocked on the door, and waited for a response. 

"Who is calling?" He heard the knight's voice through the door, and grinned despite himself.

"Brandon Stark, ser." Bran answered, straightening himself. If he wanted to be a squire, he had to look presentable and kept when asking the old knight. 

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Bran thought that the knight had not heard his reply. 

He was about to repeat himself when Barristan said, "My young lord, you may come in." 

Bran opened the door and entered inside Barristan's rooms, his wolf following him. To many boys in the Seven Kingdoms, there was an expectation to what Barristan the Bold's room would appear like. Many would think that the heads of all the enemies Barristan had killed were adjourned across shelves, or that the swords and lances of the foes he had vanquished were raised on two parallel poles. Or maybe several helms of different foes were kept in a closet in the far right of the room.

Bran had been in the knight's room several times before, and he knew it was nothing like that. In fact, the knight's rooms were meager at best. He had not brought much with him to Winterfell, for he had left most of his possessions in the White Sword Tower in the Red Keep. All he had brought was a longsword, his white enameled armour and a brown destrier. A large tapestry bearing the red three-headed dragon of House Targaryen hung upon the wall, as well the knight’s white cloak and armor that hung off the far wall. In addition to a bed and furnishings, that was it. There was nothing to awe or be of wonderment of in the room. 

Anything to do with that would be interacting with the knight himself. Barristan was seated on his bed, polishing his sword with an oil cloth. The way he sat by the edge of his bed reminded Bran of the way his father would sit in the godswood every time he came back from an execution, reflective and solemn. 

Barristan looked at him, his lined features creasing, "Is there something the matter, young Brandon Stark? You look as if something is amiss. Has something happened to Prince Jon?"

 _Of course Jon would be his first concern._ Barristan used to follow Jon wherever he went in Winterfell, guarding and watching like with the precise eye of a hawk. However, these past few years he had relaxed in his protectiveness. No one would attack Jon at Winterfell. Guards were present all throughout in the inner and outer walls of the castle. If they tried, they would be shot with a dozen arrows before they could cause serious harm.

Still, the knight was cautious as he should be. Jon was his charge, and Barristan the Bold was known to be attentive to his duty.

"Jon is fine. He is escorting Lady Ryella around Winterfell," Bran remembered what Robb had told him, "No, I wished to speak with you. About a personal matter."

"Oh, what could that be?" Barristan smiled fondly at him, and Bran swallowed his nervousness down. 

 _You can do this,_ Bran thought to himself,  _You have nothing to lose._

"I wish to be your squire, Ser." 

If the knight was surprised, he hid it well, veiled behind a blank face. He shifted in his seat, and Bran thought he would stand but he did not. Bran did not know what the man was thinking. He hid his emotions very well, even better than his father or Jon. 

"I see," The old knight said, his blue eyes piercing Bran's own. "Why do you wish to become my squire, Brandon? Rodrik is a knight as well, Preston is anointed by the seven. They would be suitable men to serve under and to learn from."

"I know that, ser," Bran bowed his head. "Ser Rodrik and Ser Preston are good men. Loyal, courageous, true to their words and to their sword. However, they are not you, ser."

"Not me?" Bran realized how foolish that had sounded when Barristan repeated his words. "What do you mean?"

"Well, not only are you the most skilled swordsman I have ever seen, but you are the bravest and more honorable," Bran said, "You could teach me something about knighthood, chivalry and honor that I do not know, as well as how to properly conduct myself as a warrior pledged to not only the north, but to King's Landing and House Targaryen as well. You know so much about the world and what it truly means to be a knight. I feel like that a squire, I can learn so much from you and be a better person."

The knight contemplated this for what seemed like days, unmoving. Barristan Selmy reached for the leather scabbard laid next to him on his bed and sheathed his longsword. Placing the scabbard on the bed, he stood and walked a few steps towards Bran.  

"You say these things, Bran, and I know you mean them. But you said that you could learn so much from me and be a better person. My question to you is this: what can I learn from you to make  _me_ a better man?"

Bran did not know how to answer that. What could he teach him that the knight didn't know? The knight was almost five decades older than him, had fought in so many wars and battles, had seen the various regions of the Seven Kingdoms where Bran had only lived in the north, had loved and lost friends and family in ways that Bran had not. What was something that he could teach him? He had an answer on the tip of his tongue, but Bran was not sure how the knight would take it.

Barristan calmly waited for an answer. Bran could not think of anything else to say. He looked down at his wolf, who stared at him with tilted yellow eyes, before looking back at Barristan and saying, "I can tell you a secret about Winterfell that only I know. Not even Maester Luwin knows about it."

The old knight opened his mouth to reply, but immediately stopped midway. He looked curious to what Bran had to say, so he asked, "Whatever could that secret be?"

"Promise to make me your squire and I will tell you, ser. Do not worry. It is a big secret, and worth it." 

Barristan laughed at that, his eyes glistening, "Oh, alright. If it is a worthwhile secret, I promise on my honor as a knight and on the Warrior that I will take you as my squire."

Bran struggled not to let the tears swelling in his eyes fall down his cheek. He had done it. He was going to be a squire to Barristan the Bold. 

"Climbing the ramparts and walls of Winterfell have taught me things about my home that I never knew. In fact, I do not think even my lord father knows. Winterfell is a grey stone labyrinth of walls and towers that spread out in all different directions. If you get inside the inner wall by the south gate, you can climb three floors upward until you see a crevice in the wall. If you enter that crevice, there is a narrow tunnel in the stone that will allow you to come out of the ground level at the north gate, with a hundred feet of wall looming over you. If you press against the wall hard enough, it will reveal a loose and cracked cemented segment that can be removed for an exit out of Winterfell through the valley behind the wall, since the builders did not level the earth completely." 

When Bran finished speaking, Barristan was staring at him with wide eyes. He looked surprised. Bran suspected that he had not thought of Bran's secret of something of this consequence. 

"If there is ever a siege or the castle fell to enemy hands, you could send men each day through that way with women and children to leave Winterfell safely," Barristan seemed to be talking more to himself than to Bran. "Or assemble a token force to disrupt supply lines." 

"There it is," Bran said, feeling his wolf nuzzle against his leg. "Was it a worthwhile secret, ser?"

Barristan's mouth morphed into a wide smile. "It is, Brandon Stark. I admit, I did not expect for your secret to be of that...nature. However, I am pleased nonetheless. I do not think you worship the Faith of the Seven, but that does not really matter in the grand scheme of things. Brandon Stark of Winterfell, you will be my squire."

It was all Bran could do to not hug the knight as he said those words. He had done it. He was going to be a squire to Barristan the Bold. Not many had this opportunity, and Bran would not let it go to waste.

_Arya is going to be so jealous._

"Thank you, ser. I promise I will do everything you ask of me with the proper accordance and action as you need me too." Bran bowed his head.  

"Oh, I do not doubt it. You are a good and dutiful boy, Bran Stark." 

Bran beamed at that. "Ser, do you require me to do anything for you now?"

Barristan shook his head. "No, no, no. Enjoy yourself today, my lord. I just want you to know that do not expect me to treat you lightly because you are a Stark. You are my squire now: you are my responsibility. In that, I will do the best of my ability to instruct you in the virtues and values of chivalry and knighthood. You say that you will commit yourself to this, and I applaud you for that, but actions speak louder than words. If you do not put your full effort into being my squire, I will inform your father that I will not longer require you under my tutelage."

"I understand." Bran said solemnly. 

"Very well. You may leave." Barristan turned around and went back to retrieve his scabbard. 

Bran pivoted on his feet and made to leave. He could not wait to tell his brothers and sisters what had happened. He was going to be a squire. He was going to be attending to Ser Barristan Selmy, the Kingsguard knight of King Rhaegar Targaryen, sworn brother of the Sword of Morning and the celebrated hero. 

_They are going to be so happy and proud. Father, mother, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Jon, Jonos, Harry, even Jeyne and Beth will be excited for me._

"Brandon, one more thing." Barristan called out to him, stopping Bran in his tracks. 

Bran eagerly turned to face him once again. "Yes, Ser Barristan."

"You do not need to worry about what your mother and father will be think of you leaving Winterfell to serve me in King's Landing. Your father already understands and has accepted that you will accompanying Jon and myself with the King and his party back to the capitol. You should prepare yourself to not be seeing Winterfell for a long time, until you are at least knighted."

Bran nodded, "Of course, ser. I understand-" It was then what Barristan said suddenly dawned on him. No, his father did not know that Bran wished to squire under Barristan. Lord Eddard knew that he wished to be a knight, but Bran had never disclosed that particular desire to him.

"-I do not understand," Bran corrected himself mid-sentence. "How does my father know?"

"Your father was the one who came to me three weeks ago asking if I could take you as my squire. Initially, I was reluctant as I did not want to take you away from this place that you loved, but I eventually accepted the proposal. Jon and Robb, Jonos and Harrion are too old to be squires and worship their faith too much to care about being knights. Your fascination with knighthood reaches no bounds. You would make a fine knight of Winterfell one day, Bran."

Bran was confounded. "Are you saying that you had already decided to make me your squire before today?"

"Yes, Bran Stark. You revealed your big secret to me when you hadn't needed to," Barristan smiled warmly at him. "I was going to reveal it to you when the king had arrived and I had received his blessing, but you came here now and seemed so resolved in your cause."

The enormity of the situation suddenly pressed Bran's mind. He was going to leave Winterfell with Jon and Barristan. Leave the place he had considered home since the day he had been born. His brothers, his sisters, his friends, his mother and father. They would all remain here while he would ride with the party back south. Small wonder Jon seemed embittered about the King's visit. Even Bran, who so wished to be a knight and squire under Barristan the Bold, paused at the notion of leaving the North behind.

 _This is my calling. I have to make sacrifices to fulfill my knighthood, even if I do not like them. It seems I am to be a lone wolf in the south_.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Jon, Rhaegar and Daenerys.


	4. CHAPTER IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royal family arrives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty happy with the way this turned out, even if it did take so long. This chapter was getting super long, so I put the Rhaegar and Dany's in Chapter V. Hopefully that chapter gets published faster, since I've written 2/3 of it already.

**Winterfell**

* * *

  **JON**

There were not many times during his time at Winterfell that he had become wrought with nervousness, but as Jon paced around his chambers, he could feel his throat constrict and his body tremble in trepidation as he realised the daunting circumstances of what was to transpire.

The royal party were due to arrive in a moment’s time. In the distance, the sentries had caught glimpse of the long column of riders that Winterfell had been expecting. The last time Jon had asked, one of the guards had estimated that around two hundred or more riders had accompanied the King from the south. Most of them were garbed in the black and red colours of House Targaryens, the banners of the royal family flying high above their heads.

The sentries had been unable to discern who was leading the column, but Jon did not have to look to know who it would be. His father would be riding with his Kingsguard, his silver hair blowing against the cold winds of the North as his purple eyes creased with concentration.

He wondered if his siblings or aunt rode alongside King Rhaegar, or if they remained in one of one wheelhouses that were lined amongst the column of horses. Jon already knew that Queen Cersei and his younger half-siblings would be seated in one of the carriages. He suspected that the other was reserved for Rhaenys and Daenerys, as well as their respective attendants.

Everything was ready. All the food had been cooked, all their clothes and dresses had been tailored, the wine and beverages for the more alcohol-inclined guests had been brewed, all the chambers and rooms for the nobility had been prepared.

Jon had even heard from a passing guard that even the brothel of wintertown had been refurbished in wait for the southerners. The North was not known for its ostentatious display of wealth and decoration, but a certain etiquette was expected for the presence of a King. Though why that standard had to be extended to whorehouses, Jon did not know. He was sure Harrion would be pleased. 

Ghost quietly watched Jon’s movements with eyes as dark as crimson from his place at the end of Jon’s bed. It was an odd notion to consider, but Jon could almost swear that the albino wolf shared Jon’s apprehension surrounding the visit.

In fact, Ghost seemed to have a surprisingly amount of insight into Jon’s feelings since the day he had been brought to Winterfell along with his litter mates. He had been sullen when Jon had reflecting on his father’s visit.

He had seemed jovial and full of spirit playing with the other wolves when Jon had been enjoying his final month of freedom with his cousins and friends. He had even been deferential and courteous towards Ryella Dustin when Jon had offered to show her the sights of Winterfell.

 _“I have never seen an animal act so obedient to its master,”_ Jon remembered Ryella commenting when she had run her soft hands through his wolf’s white fur. _“Of course, my father has his horses. And his hounds. But they took several months to be trained and prepared to carry out the wishes of our household. These wolves...wolves cannot be tamed, but these direwolves seem so inclined towards you all, my prince. It’s...strange.”_

It was indeed peculiar to consider.

The wolves had taken little time to acclimatize to Winterfell, pleasing him. He had been slightly afraid that the good word he had put in in favour for the wolves would be all for naught, but the six pups had become accustomed to their new surroundings with immediacy. They had not caused any notable disturbances, to which Jon and the rest of his cousins were thankful for.

Jon went towards Ghost and knelt down in front of him. He reached out and scratched the pup behind the ears. Ghost bent his head to the side and licked his hand. Jon chuckled and rubbed his palm against silky and cold fur.

“Are you nervous, Ghost?” Jon asked his wolf, slowly standing up. “You should not be. My other family will be fascinated by you and your siblings. I am sure of it. I am sure my siblings will coddle themselves in your good charms. That is the only positive reaction I am certain that will be elicited from them during this visit.”

As Ghost rested his head on the floor, Jon looked down at himself. As a Prince, it was assumed that he would be wearing an intricately woven assortment of fine silks or a embroidered velvet doublet, studded with rubies and onyxes.

For Jon, that notion of thinking was too southern for his taste. His attire was of simple northern fashion - a heavy leather tunic of dark brown and an overcoat of black, trimmed with sable furs. His studded belt and his black-dyed fur-trimmed boots were made of leather, and over the length of his shoulders was a silver-and-grey fur coat. Jon’s wavy black hair was tied back from his face with a rubber band, his face clean-shaven and sharp-featured.

For once, Jon was happy with how he looked. More than anything, he looked more northern and kept than he had ever been in his life. He had always looked more Stark than Targaryen, but how he looked as of now cemented that perspective even more. Lord Eddard would be pleased with his appearance, as well as his cousins. He hoped that his garbs left his royal family with an impression of his upbringing that words did not need to describe.

Jon heard a knock on his door, and straightened himself. Ghost’s head perked up as the deep voice of Ser Barristan Selmy carried into his closed chambers.

“My prince, we have received word that the royal party is fast approaching to the castle. We best hurry or else we will be late in receiving your father and his entourage.”

 _That would be bad._ Not only would that leave a first impression of negative connotation from the southerners towards him, it would impact perception of House Stark as well. That was something that Jon was not willing to allow.

“Of course. I will be just a moment, Ser.” Jon looked towards Ghost and gestured for the direwolf to stand.

“Come on, Ghost. Let us be off.”

Ghost stood from his resting place, walked a few steps to him and brushed his snout against Jon’s leg.

Jon opened the door. Ser Barristan stood in front of him. The old knight looked quite handsome, his blue eyes bright and his lined features soft. He wore the armour of the Kingsguard - an intricate suit of of white enameled scales with fastenings for breastplate. His gauntlets, vambrace and pauldron were made of silver metal, and fastened over his shoulders was a cloak of the brightest white color. Over his waist was a leather double wrapped belt, which held his sheathed steel longsword.

His protector had not worn the armor of his brotherhood in almost ten years, but in Jon’s opinion, it fit the knight better now than it had when they had arrived at the gates of Winterfell.

As Jon stepped out of his chambers, Barristan looked over him with appraising eyes. His smile was warm as he said, “My prince, you look very handsome.”

“Thank you, ser. You look handsome and well-suited back in your armor as well,” Jon replied, trying not to blush. “I hope that King Rhaegar is pleased to see what we have become in these ten years.”

“I do not know about me, but I have no doubt that His Grace will be more than thrilled to see the person you have grown up to be. I do not wish to speak ill of the King, but he would be a fool not to.”

“Let us hope, Ser.”

Ghost slipped past Jon and began scurrying down the hall. Barristan chuckled at the sight of the white wolf bounding off without them.

“It seems your wolf is more eager to welcome the King and his entourage than you are, Prince Jon.” Barristan remarked in a light tone.

“It appears so,” Jon said quietly. “We had best be off then.”

Jon and Barristan began walking down the hall, sweeping past the servants and candlemakers who were finishing their work.

“Have you talked to Bran about what his squiring in the south will fully entail?” Jon asked, breaking the silence that had befallen amongst them.

“Bran is a smart boy. I have spoken little with him since I took him as my squire in an official capacity, but he seems to understand the duties and responsibilities he will have in the south as my squire.”

Jon was happy for his cousin. Similar to Sansa, Bran loved very much the stories of knighthood, chivalry and honour. Bran would always come to Barristan, his father or Jon himself whenever he wished to hear a story about fabled warriors, mythological knights during the Age of Heroes, or the tales of the ancient dragon-lords before the Doom of Valyria. Being given the honour of squiring under Ser Barristan the Bold was a distinction that not many could boast, and he could emphasise with how much it meant to Bran.

Jon was just thankful that at least one of his cousins would be with him during the journey back south.   

* * *

When Jon, Barristan and Ghost approached the courtyard, it seemed almost the entirety of castle resident’s had already convened. They seemed to have been one of the last groups to arrive, with several servants moving past them to stand along the walls as well as guardsmen moving towards the gates. Jon noticed out of the corner of his gaze the direwolves of his cousins playing to the side of the courtyard, their grey and silver furs floundering as they nipped at each other.

As Jon stepped through the converging crowd, his eyes found the Starks arranged in front of their household and northern noble guests. At the far right was Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, their faces sombre and unmoving as they watched the gates where the visitors were to enter.

To Lord Eddard’s left were his children. Robb stood stone-faced directly to his father and heavy fur-coat, his grey wool trimmed with white. Sansa wore a splendid looking gown of dark green, her thick auburn hair tumbling in curls down her shoulders. Bran and Rickon both wore grey tunics and fur coats over their shoulders, though it suited Bran more than it did little Rickon, who seemed to be trying not to fall under the weight of his coat.

Quickening his pace, Jon realised that Arya was not present. Looking beyond the Starks, he could see the household of Winterfell as well as the noble guests lined directly behind them. Harrion and Jonos grinned at him as he drew closer, and when he caught Ryella’s green eyes, he felt his cheeks redden when she gave him a warm smile.

But still, he could not see Arya.

_She should be here. My father will be here at any moment. It will besmirch the honour of House Stark if she shows her face in the courtyard when the party have already arrived._

Barristan left his side to stand next to Lady Catelyn. As a Prince, it was expected of Jon to stand to the right of Lord and Lady along with his protector - an honorary position benefiting his rank. However, Jon was more concerned about finding Arya’s whereabouts than anything else.

When he came closer, Robb caught sight of Ghost, looked up and pointed towards him. “Look, father. The missing winged-wolf has returned to grace us with his presence.”

Robb’s voice was light, but his father did not seem to find it amusing. “Jon, we were worried that something that happened to you. You should have been here earlier. We cannot afford any delays.”

“I am sorry, uncle.” Jon could understand Lord Stark’s stern tone. They were all anxious about his father’s arrival. Eddard Stark was being firm with him like he would to his own son.

“Jon, have you seen Arya? We thought that she would be with you.” Lady Catelyn looked to him with a worried expression.

Jon shook his head. “No, I have not seen her. I thought that she would already be here.”

Sansa sighed, “I knew Arya would embarrass us all. To be absent when the King arrives...if she was going to humiliate herself, at least she should be gracious to not demean the rest of us.”

"That's not fair, Sansa. Arya is not that bad. She knows how important her attendance is. Father and mother drilled it into all our heads before this day. She will be here at any moment. Just you watch." Robb said.

It was as if Robb's words were blessed by the old gods themselves. As soon as he finished speaking, Jon heard the footsteps of someone scampering behind him. When he turned around, he saw someone running towards them, a small figure wearing a dark blue gown whose face was concealed by a grey helmet. Tailing them was a direwolf with dark golden eyes and dark grey fur.

Lord Eddard grabbed the person with both hands by the shoulder as they passed by him, and as the person caught their breath, he removed their helmet. Arya's face was revealed to be red from physical exertion, and her hair was untangled and messy. 

Robb and Bran both sniggered, and Jon tried not to smile at the horrified look that Lady Catelyn gave her daughter at her unkept disposition. 

Her father did not seem pleased to see his daughter like this, "Arya, the Royal party is about to arrive. Where were you for all this time? And why are you in such a dishelved state?"

"I am sorry, father. I was just watching the Royal party riding towards Winterfell from the battlements. I almost forgot the welcoming, so I had to run when I saw everyone leaving their posts to come here."

Jon noticed that Bran was scowling at his older sister. "Arya, you promised along with me that neither of us would climb the parapet to see the party before they came through the gates. That's completely unfair of you."

"I was curious. I wanted see what all the fuss was about." Arya responded defensively.

"Arya Stark, it was this day that I hoped you would battle your urges and act civilised and ladylike. I thought your father and I had already talked to you about this type of behaviour. Look at you now," Lady Catelyn bemoaned. "You looked so pretty this morning...now you look haggard."

If Jon was being truthful to himself, he did not think his cousin looked that bad. Her face was clean and her cheeks had returned to their normal colour. It was only her hair that looked out of place and disorderly. If she straightened her hair back with her hands, she would at least look presentable. 

"Sansa, do what you can to help your sister fix her hair," His lord uncle said, his grey eyes weighing his youngest daughter carefully. "After the King and his family have settled in the castle, your mother and I will speak privately with you, Arya. Now, quickly get in line."

Lord Stark's tone was even, but Jon and everyone else present could tell that he was displeased and disappointed with his daughter. Arya looked crestfallen as she moved sullenly to her position in between Bran and and a smirking Sansa.

Jon wanted to reach out to his cousin and give her a warm embrace, but as the sounds of hooves and clattering armour grew louder and closer, Jon walked to stand next to Lady Catelyn.

 _I will speak with her later._ Jon swore to himself, feeling Ghost lean lightly against his legs. _Even if she does not come to me, I will talk to her._

"Make ready, the King and his party are approaching!" One of the men near the gates shouted.  The sound of horns and whistles blew loud through the air from atop the northern gates, and Jon saw his cousin's direwolves perk up at the culminating sounds. They seemed aware of the sudden shift in attention, and quickly raced to the sides of their masters as the horns grew louder. 

Before Jon could even blink, two Knights of the Kingsguard rode through the gates, cloaked in snow-white and with faces veiled by helms. However, this did nothing to deter Jon's ability to recognise the men.

The first wore a helmet emblazoned with a black bat with its wings spread, and was very tall even on his warhorse, with broad shoulders and a thick chest. The second knight however was the one who drew the attention of most, identified by the greatsword slung over his back, it's pommel engraved with a bright yellow sun.

 _Oswell Whent and Arthur Dayne._ Jon observed quietly. _If they are the first, then that must mean that-_

Jon's thoughts were cut off by the arrival of the two riders that the Knights had been flanking. As they trotted side by side through the gates of Winterfell, their pale, striking faces visible for all to see. It had been so long since he has last seen them, but Jon's breath faltered as he realised who they were.

King Rhaegar Targaryen, the First of His Name, was as handsome as he had been during the eve of the Greyjoy Rebellion. His skin was unblemished and pale white, his face clean-shaven and framed by long silver-blonde hair that reached past his shoulders. His eyes were pools of indigo, a purple shade that looked hauntingly elegant.

Although tall, the King had seemed to seemed to have become more gaunt and slender, his face more angular and drawn than Jon remembered from his childhood. His black and red doublet seemed loose around his body, and his fur coat seemed to weigh on him heasier than it should have with a man of his stature. His hands seemed less assured of the reins of his black stallion as well. 

His thin and almost tired look gave Jon pause. Perhaps age had caught up with his father. Maybe his father's melancholic nature had drawn from him a greater price that he could have imagined. Or, something that Jon suspected as so, the burden of his guilt had torn at Rhaegar Targaryen.

The person next to him however though of similar appearance to the King was anything but melancholic. Prince Aegon's face was bright and full of wonder as he looked around the walls and buildings of Winterfell, his dark lilac eyes glimmering with excitement as he spurred his horse towards the centre of the courtyard.

Aegon was very different from when Jon had last seen him. A year his elder, Aegon was muscular and well-built, broad-shouldered and sturdily framed. Inheriting the Targaryen features of their father, his silver-blonde hair was cut shorter than their father's, framing high cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. His brother had become a very handsome man. In fact, from what  Jon could see between his elder half-brother and father, it was reasonable to suggest that Aegon was rival to their father in terms of appearance.

Jon's stare was keenly concentrated on his father and brother, waiting to see which one of them would make eye contact with him first. Aegon was the first, gazing over Jon with widened eyes, a grin playing at his lips. Jon gave him a courteous smile, but felt disappointment brewing in his heart when his father looked at him, his face solemn and expressionless. The King's mouth opened slightly, as if he wished to say something aloud, before turning his head away.

 _Damn you._ Jon tightened his fists against his thighs and clenched his teeth. _I am your son. You could at least smile. Give me that at least._

So caught in focus of his father and brother that Jon had not noticed the others riders coming through. The visitors continued to pour through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, almost two hundred strong. They were a pride of bannermen and knights, a large assortment of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen black banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the three headed red dragon of House Targaryen.

Jon did know many of the riders, but from his vague recollections of the south as well as the letters written to him, he could identify at least some of them. The Kingslayer rode through with hair as bright as beaten gold, though unlike the others of his sworn brotherhood, Jaime Lannister wore golden armor decorated with the Lannister lion, with a gilded long-sword sheathed on his sword belt.

"That's Jaime Lannister?" He heard Arya asked Sansa in a hushed tone.

"Shut up, Arya. Yes it is." Sansa hissed back. 

"Where is the Imp then? I thought he would be coming too. Father said he would be coming."

"Arya, shut up. You will embarrass us even further than you have." Sansa admonished. 

 _Where is indeed Lord Tyrion?_ Like Arya, Jon had wanted to see the so called "imp" son of Tywin Lannister. 

Near Ser Jaime was Lucas Blackwood, who had been sent to foster with the Iron Throne since the Rebellion. Jon remembered him somewhat from the score of wards that had been present in the Red Keep. He remembered Aegon mentioning in one of his letters that Lucas was a friend of his, and that he had refrained from being sent back to Raventree Hall to keep companionship with Aegon.

Next to Lucas was a dark-haired man whom Jon did recognise, but from the emblazoned golden kraken on his black doublet as well as his arrogant smile, Jon could only assume that it was Theon Greyjoy. Daenerys had written their father's ward as vain, conceited and affectionate with the loins of whores and common girls. Jon hoped that the man was on his best behavior during his stay at Winterfell.

Among the incoming riders, two caught Jon's attention. A man who looked of similar age to Aegon rode through the gates alongside a girl, who wore simply cut gown of brown lambswool, with vine and leaf embroidery on the bodice, sleeves, and hem in golden embroidery. A small fur coat was wrapped around her shoulders. Jon assumed that they were both brother and sister, as they looked remarkably alike with flowing brown hair and large, golden-brown eyes.

What struck Jon the most was that the man seemed to carry himself as a knight, wearing an intricately made suit of plate armor as well as a a sword of fashioned steel sheathed along his waist. Jon was surprised to see a man so young and feminine looking being anointed as a knight. Jon assumed that he was a very talented warrior or tourney jouster. He was quite interested in learning more about the individual.

His sister was in Jon's opinion one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. He would not call her beautiful like he would Lady Catelyn, but she was on the cusp, and Jon knew that she would a breathtaking beauty when she grew out of her youth. Jon was surprised to see her riding alongside her brother, for he was sure she was a lady-in-waiting to one of the princesses or gods help her, his stepmother. He had assumed that Daenerys and Rhaenys' attendants would be with them in their wheelhouses, which was too wide to fit through the gates of Winterfell. 

 _She must be of a very important house in the south, to be allowed to ride freely along with her brother in the homestretch to the castle,_ Jon thought as he watched her guide her horse towards the center of the courtyard.  

Jon glanced to his right quickly. Lord and Lady Stark were expressionless, though Robb was smiling slightly at the display being presented in front of him. Then again, Robb smiled at almost anything. Sansa however was blushing, glancing shyly towards his father and half-brother, who were dismounting off their horses. Arya and Bran both seemed to be enthralled at the sight of Arthur Dayne and Oswell Whent, while Rickon stared awe-struck at it all.

Time seemed to slow down for Jon as he saw a powerfully built herald emerge from the crowd of riders, bearing the standard of House Targaryen. As his father and brother gave away the reins of their horses, the herald roared,"All kneel for King Rhaegar Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and a Protector of the Realm. All kneel for Prince Aegon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne."

His uncle was the first to drop to his knee, and everyone including Jon followed his example, their heads bowed low out of respect to the King. In terms of protocol, Jon did not have to bow himself to his father and brother due to his status as Prince. However, Jon had chosen to do so, not out of duty to his father, but as a sign of respect for the Starks.

His Targaryen family would not understand, but Jon knew Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn and his cousins would. And if he was being honest, that was all that Jon cared for.

"Please, Lord Stark. Rise. Everyone, rise." His father approached them with deliberate steps. He still sounded the same, his voice still brisked with an iron tone. 

Everyone followed his command dutifully, the riders still continuing to come through. 

It was only then as Jon looked more closely at his father that he realized that the King was not wearing his crown. King Rhaegar had chosen the crown first worn by Aegon the Third, a slender band of gold. Even in its simplicity, it spoke volumes of the reign that his father had intended to embark upon following his coronation.

_I wonder if he knew not to wear his crown in the north._

His father came to stand in front of his uncle, with Aegon staying a few steps behind him in a deferential manner. Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell took their positions near the right and left of the King and his heir, watching them closely through the visors in their helmets. 

His father extended a hand, and Lord Eddard shook it slowly. There was no warmth between the two, and even Jon could sense their brisk regard for each other. 

"Lord Stark, it is an honor to be in the north after all these years. Winterfell is as beautiful as I remember her to be." King Rhaegar said to his uncle.

Lord Eddard responded, "Thank you, your grace. As always, Winterfell is yours, and its hospitality, warmth and safety is granted to you."

"Of course. I accept your offer with gratitude. The ride north was long, but it offered many sights and offerings that I am sure will stay in all our minds till the end of our days," His father turned slightly towards Lady Catelyn, and nodded respectfully. "My lady, it is an honor to see you again after all these years. Your father and your brother Edmure send their best wishes from Riverrun."

Lady Catelyn curtsied, "Thank you, my king." 

Jon breathed slowly as the King moved to his right, feeling everyone's eyes gaze into him from all directions as his father stood in front of him. Rhaegar Targaryen regarded him thoughtfully with his purple eyes, his face softening.

There was a pregnant pause, with the whining of horses and the movement of plated ornaments being the only thing to subdue the notion of silence. Jon almost stared to the ground. He could feel his nerves creep up through his body, threatening to overwhelm and belittle his senses. However, Jon steeled himself against his nervousness, and looked directly into his father's eyes.

_Now you are looking at me. See who I am, father. See the man I have grown up to become._

"Jon. My son," Rhaegar said finally, his mouth perking with a small smile. "I am happy to see you again after all this time. It seems that the boy I sent to foster at Winterfell ten years before has grown up to be a fine, strong and handsome young man. You look...you look so much like your mother. So northern...so very much like Lyanna."

Jon froze at that. Why did he say that? In front of all the Starks, the northern nobles, the servants and household of Winterfell, to all his southern riders and bannermen, why had he invoked her name? In this public space, in front of all these people. Did he not understand how awkward it would be to use his mother's name at this moment? In front of the people he had insulted all those years ago with his elopement?

His father was looking at him expectantly, waiting for a response. Jon could feel his mind threatening to shamble, so he responded, "Thank you, You're Grace."

Beside him, he could see Barristan wince slightly at his response, and Jon realized how curt he had sounded.

His father either did not notice or had chosen to ignore it, for he continued saying, "Even your voice is of the north. It seems Lord Eddard and his family have done me a great service, fostering you at Winterfell. The man I see before me has exceeded my expectations in every with every way. You look very much like a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, in more than just name and blood."

Jon surmised that he was supposed to feel elated from his father's compliments. He did not. His heart was racing, and Jon could feel his fingers twitching. 

"You did me a great honour, your grace, by sending me to live at Winterfell," Jon said to him. "There is not a house truer and more honourable than the Starks of the North. In all my time here no matter the day or hour, they have never made me feel unequal. Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn and my cousins have always treated me like a fourth son and brother, and I consider Winterfell my home."

"And for all this, I will eternally grateful to House Stark," His father replied. "Jon, I wish to speak with you later. In private. I wish fully understand and know the man you have grown up to be in the heart of the North." 

 _One meeting will not be able to encompass ten years of growth and ignorance,_ Jon had wanted to retort, but instead he simply said, "Of course, your grace."

The King looked down, and looked keenly at Ghost. The albino pup looked at the King with curious eyes. "And what is this? One of the direwolves I have heard about? He looks beautiful."

"His name is Ghost, my King," Jon explained. "We found him along with his brothers and sisters while riding through a forest, suckling at the milk of their dead mother. The wolves have been a companion to my cousins and I ever since."

His father smiled at that. "Six direwolves for six children of the north. I suppose even in the most normal of circumstances, some signs are true after all."

Jon did not know what his father meant with that. 

His father reached out slowly and placed his hands on both of Jon's shoulders. Jon tensed, expecting his father to embrace him. However, it seemed his father had sensed Jon's discomfort, for all he did was give his shoulders a tight squeeze before moving to Barristan.

Though a part of him was thankful that his father had not hugged him, a frustrated part of him was disappointed. He had hoped his father would be more warm with his greeting, or give him something other than words of courtesies. 

 _Perhaps that is to be expected,_ Jon thought to himself as Barristan and the King clasped their hands together in greeting, _I should not have welcomed him with such a barrier between us. It is both our faults._

"It has been a long time since I have seen you, my good knight," The King told Jon's protector. "You have not aged a day since the last I saw of you. I trust that your time in the north has not dulled your senses?"

"If anything, it has enhanced my awareness, my King," Barristan said. "The Starks and their household have welcomed me graciously into their home, and have helped me tremendously in protection of your son."

"Oh, I can see that," The King flashed a quick glance at Jon before returning his focus to Barristan, "Your sworn brothers have missed you in the capitol. Arthur keeps complaining that he has no competition amongst the other Knights and warriors in the city to fight against since you left."

"I imagine with his devotion to that greatsword of his, he would say just that, your grace," Barristan said lightly. "Without it, I am sure he would be beaten off his high horse more times than you can count on your fingers."

"I take that as a challenge to your Lord Commander, Barristan," The voice of The Sword of Morning echoed through courtyard, causing some gasps from onlookers. Arthur Dayne had taken off his helm, revealing a very handsome man with pale blonde hair and dark purple eyes, with a face hardened by war and fighting. "It seems your time in the North has not dismissed your bravado."

"Nor has your time in the south dampened your pride, Arthur." Barristan replied with a grin. He looked towards Whent and said, "It is good to see you too, Oswell."

"Likewise, old friend," Oswell Whent nodded his head in acknowledgement of his sworn brother. "If you are going to challenge Arthur to a duel, at least wait until we have dusted off our breeches and gotten some fine northern mead into the body. I would hope to be slightly drunk when watching you both bicker in the yards, exchanging more words than blows with those overblown egos of yours."

Rhaegar Targaryen chuckled. Jon tried not to feel bitter over the fact that his father felt more at ease around Barristan than he did him. He had known the old knight since his birth, and had grown like Jon with Barristan the Bold as his constant vigil of protection. They had fought together during the Rebellion too. Of course it would stand to reason that he would have comradary with the knight.

"Enough. I am sure when all the rest of the guard arrive with the Queen and the Princesses, you will all have stories to exchange. And duels to organise," The King stopped their conversation with the wave of a hand. "I have not even greeted Lord Eddard's children."

"Your Grace, this is my eldest son and heir, Robb." His uncle introduced to his father as Rhaegar approached his cousin. 

"Well met, Robb Stark." Both his cousin and father shook hands.

Sansa gave a deep curtesy when his father came to her, and she blushed a pretty red when he complimented her appearance.

"And what is your name, my lady?" Rhaegar next asked his grey-eyed cousin.

"My name is Arya Stark. I am nine years old. And this is my direwolf, Nymeria." She gestured towards her pup.

Jon tried not to laugh at the disapproving looks that Sansa and Lady Catelyn shot Arya. Even his uncle looked annoyed. That girl always would forget her courtesies, no matter who it was too. His father however was smiling at Arya, his expression soft and calm. 

"I see. Nymeria. The Rhoynar Queen who led her people from Rhoyne to Dorne, and aided House Martell in conquering the region. I assume that is who you named your pup after?"

Arya beamed. "Yes. Would you like to pet her, your grace? She wont bite, not unless I tell her to. You would have nothing to worry about." 

"I thank you for considering my safety, as well as the offer. Perhaps later, after everyone has settled."

"Brandon Stark, your grace. I am seven years old." His cousin told him when his father asked Bran for his name.

"Your grace, I have recently taken Brandon as my squire. The boy is good and dutiful like the rest of his family, and will serve me well." Barristan said.

"I have no doubt," His father patted Bran on the back lightly. "You look like strong lad. And you are a Stark after all."

Bran's face swelled with pride at that.

After the King had been introduced to a shy Rickon, he stepped back and looked towards Jon's older half-brother. Jon had almost forgotten Aegon or anyone else was present during the introductions between the King and the Starks, and his mind snapped back to the moment when his father said, "Come, Aegon. Before everyone else arrives. Introduce yourself."

"Of course, father. I was waiting for your leave." Aegon smiled as he came forward and shook Lord Eddard's hand. "My lord, thank you for welcoming my family into your home. Like my father said, Winterfell is a beautiful castle, and the north is beautiful country."

"I thank you for the kind words, my prince." 

After kissing Lady Catelyn's hand and commenting on her beauty, Jon was taken off guard when Aegon raised his arms and gave him a tight embrace. Aegon's arms were heavy and muscled, and had a strong power to them that Jon had not expected. 

"Dear brother, it has been almost ten years since we have last seen each other," Aegon said as he released Jon from his grasp. "The letters we exchanged did no justice to how you appear in front of me. I expected for the worst a homely looking stranger, but what I see before me destroys that impression entirely."

Jon was flustered. Daenerys had written of Aegon's temperament, and Jon had guessed himself from the letters he had received from his brother. Aegon was allegedly quite charismatic and charming, and Jon could see a hint of that from his greeting.

 _"_ It has indeed been a long time, brother," Jon said, slowly smiling. "It is good to see you too. I hope the ride north did not pose too much difficulty?"

"Oh no. Anything but. The North is a place unlike I have ever seen. I am starting to understand why you are so free with your praise.

"After you speak with father, we must all talk. We are all so curious about your experiences at Winterfell. You, Daenerys, Rhaenys. Even Visenya and Aenar. Me. It will be exciting. And I am sure you are interested in what the south has been like since you left."

 _Not especially._ But Jon nodded and promised all the same.

Aegon then went and shook Barristan's hand firmly, "Ser Barristan, it has been a long time. My father, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell, Ser Jaime and all your sworn brothers have spoken highly of you."

"Prince Aegon," Barristan bowed respectfully towards the crown prince, "I hope I did not disappoint to your expectations, your grace." 

"Oh no. Like Jon, you have exceeded them. I can tell they were all right. I look forward to see your mock fight with Ser Arthur. We will get the entire castle assembled for that, I am sure."

 _Aegon is good at this. Rhaenys has taught him well. No wonder he is so well liked in the city. He knows what to say and how to say it._ Jon thought.

"That will only lead to a whole lot of disappointed folk, Prince Aegon. They will be expecting a _long_ duel, and a good beating from _both_ sides. None that will happen unfortunately." Ser Oswell said. 

"Do not discount us out yet, Whent." Barristan told his friend. 

As Aegon moved on to greet his cousins, Jon heard the clinking of a wheelhouse, and looked along with most everyone else to see huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses in view for all to see. The carriage was too wide to fit through the main gates, so Jon watched as several men went forward to escort its incumbents into the castle. 

A beautiful blonde haired woman emerged on the foot of the carriages steps, wearing a sumptuous heavy velvet dress with crimson and gold brocade trim. Her gown was shouldered in the shape of V, with a fitted bodice and extremely full skirt with gathered brocade side panels. Over the course of her forehead was a crown of pale spun gold set with emeralds. 

 _Queen Cersei Lannister._ Daughter of Tywin Lannister, twin to Jaime Lannister and brother to the Imp. Third wife of Rhaegar Targaryen, his only queen and the mother of his two youngest children.

Jon could tell it was her from the haughty expression on her face and the displeased look she gave Winterfell.

Behind her, two young children followed the Queen out of the carriage, and drew the immediate interest of Jon. The girl and boy both had silver-blonde hair, though the girl's hair was much longer and curlier than the boys and was also a head taller. The girl wore a fur trimmed dress of burgundy and yellow, while the boy wore a black velvet doublet, covered with red scrollwork. 

Jon leaned closer to Barristan, and whispered, "Do you think that is...?"

"Princess Visenya and Princess Aenar? Yes. I believe that is, Prince Jon." Barristan murmured. 

Jon looked to his side and saw Sansa almost on the brink of fainting as Aegon spoke to her softly, his lilac eyes sparkling as he kissed her hand. He was not surprised. Aegon would have the women of Winterfell enchanted within a day's time. He tried not to feel envious at how easy Aegon seemed to be around women. He even seemed to be charming the stubborn Arya, who's eyes were widening as Aegon petted Nymeria. 

When Queen Cersei and his younger siblings came closer, his father almost seemed to grimace as he reached out and took his wife's outstretched hand. He looked at the Starks and said, "My lords and ladies, I would like to present to you my wife and queen, Cersei of the House Lannister."

Jon did not like the cavalier regard she gave his uncle when he knelt down to kiss her signet ring, or the disapproving stare she gave when Lady Stark wished her good fortune. He especially did not like the look of disdain she shot his way when she approached him.

"So you are my husband's son. The boy he sent to Winterfell to grow into a man." Cersei's brilliant emerald-green eyes glimmered as bright as the emeralds set within her crown. 

"I am indeed, your grace," Jon said, his eyes narrowing at her. "I am Lyanna Stark's son, and the King's _second_  trueborn son."

Jon suppressed a smile when Cersei pursued her red lips at him, and he could see a flash of displeasure pass through her face before she smiled tightly. "Yes. Yes you are."

She looked back and motioned to her children, "Visenya, Aenar. Come forward and speak with your _half_ -brother. You both were so eager to see him. Be quick about it."

Jon's face softened when he saw his younger siblings shuffle to him. Aenar looked shyly to the floor as he walked to him, but Visenya's lilac eyes was full of warmth as she practically skipped towards him. 

Taking the hem of her skirts, Visenya curtsied and said, "Hello, my prince. I am Visenya. I was born after you left for Winterfell."

Jon knelt down once more, took his sister's hand and kissed it softly, "It is my honour to finally see my younger sister after all this time. You looked very beautiful in your dress, princess. Very much like a Targaryen." He looked at her and smiled. 

Visenya blushed a deep shade of crimson, and Jon could hear several murmurs from the women behind him. His uncle and father were giving him approving looks, and even Cersei seemed to be pleased with what he said. 

He did not know why. He was just commenting on his half-sister's appearance. 

"Thank you...brother. You look very handsome as well." 

"Please, call me Jon," He looked at his youngest sibling, who was staring almost absent-minded at him. "And you must be Aenar. My brother. You look very handsome in your black doublet, brother."

"Thank-thank you...Jon. It is..it is a very big honour to meet you." His brother said quietly, stepping back. His eyes seemed wary and a little fearful as he looked at Jon's feet.

Jon followed Aenar's stare, and nodded in understanding. At first, he had thought his brother somewhat insipid. Now he could see what Aenar appeared nervous. "His name is Ghost. He is a direwolf. You have nothing to worry about. He will never harm you, brother. None of the direwolves will."

"Your pup is very beautiful," Visenya commented, looking favorably at Ghost. "He looks like he is covered in snow."

"That he does," Jon grabbed the scruff of Ghost neck and gently rubbed his palm against the wolf. "Would you like to touch him?"

"I don't think my mother would want us too," Visenya said quietly, in a voice so soft that Jon could barely hear it. She glanced back at her mother, who was glaring at the direwolf. "Besides, Aenar is too nervous, and I would not want to do something without my brother trying it as well."

"That is fine. I might be nervous too in his position," Jon noted how well-spoken his half-sister seemed to be despite her ten years. Jon gestured towards Barristan. "Visenya, Aenar, this Barristan Selmy. He is my protector, and the bravest and most skilled knight I have ever had the fortune to know."

Visenya beamed at the old knight, "My brother and I know the stories of Barristan the Bold very well. We heard so much from Uncle Jaime, and Lord Commander Arthur, and our father. It is an honour to meet you at last." 

Barristan's blue eyes glimmered as he responded, "It is a pleasure, my prince and princess. You both look very much like your father and mother both."

Visenya and Aenar were then introduced to his cousins. Robb was ever courteous and like Jon kissed Visenya's hand, while Sansa elicited a blush from a half-in-love Aenar when she praised his looks. Arya seemed to have wisely decided against displaying Nymeria to his siblings. 

Jon watched all of this with a satisfied smile. His greeting with Visenya and Aenar had gone better than he had expected. Though the Queen had acted exactly as he had suspected from Dany's letters, he had not know what to foreseen how Visenya and Aenar would act towards him at first. Would the Lannister queen have clouded their judgement, or would they have kept an open mind? Jon was glad this it seemed like the former. 

 _Even if Aenar was shy, I am glad they at least did not blindly dislike me,_  Jon thought as Bran proudly told Aenar and Visenya that he was to squire for Ser Barristan.  _It would have been easy for them, having a Lannister mother who -_

Jon's musings were interrupted by a sight that made him catch his breath. Several came on foot through the gates, closely escorted by two knights of the Kingsguard that Jon did not recognise. Many of the women he did not know. However he did know two. 

While the attendants surrounding them were striking enough, it was the two leading them that struck out the most for Jon. His half-sister had grown to be a beautiful woman. She looked more Dornish than Targaryen, with dark hair falling down her shoulders, olive skin and eyes that were pitch-black and hard-edged. She was tall and slender, and wore a orange-and-red soft velour dress

However, it was not Rhaenys that drew Jon's attention. The vision of his aunt almost destroyed any common sense in Jon's mind. Daenerys was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Long, silver-blonde hair similar to his father cascaded down her neck to reach the middle of her back, framing a pale white face that held the softest of lilac eyes and high cheekbones. Her gown was of the Targaryen colors, with alternating stripes of shining red satin and plush black velvet, with intricate, costly black Myrish lace above the bodice. Over her shoulders she wore a coat of sable fur. His aunt had a short stature, though was more shapely than Rhaenys, and when their eyes locked, Jon almost choked when she gave him a wide smile.     

He saw no other option by to smile back.

His aunt and sister's attendants broke off from the two and went to join standing together with the other riders. When Rhaenys and Daenerys neared, his father smiled towards the direction of his aunt and half-sister, and said, "My lords and ladies, I would like to introduce first my daughter, Princess Rhaenys." 

Rhaenys curtsied slowly. "Lord and Lady Stark, I am privileged that you have allowed my family and myself to stay within your hall during our stay in the North."

It was only then he felt her narrowed, cat-like eyes stare at him, looking over him as if he was a piece of meat being examined by a butcher. Jon felt his feet tremble as he forced himself to look at her. As much as the notion of having her in the castle had caused him to be dispirited a month ago, he wanted her to know who he was. He was her brother. He was not a bastard nor a mistake. He was her brother, and he had grown into someone of worth. 

"The privilege is ours, your grace," Lady Catelyn responded as Lord Stark nodded in conjecture with his wife. "We hope to serve you as in any way we can during your stay."

"And this is my sister, Princess Daenerys." His father said, motioning for his aunt to come forward. 

"Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn," Daenerys curtsied elegantly, and Jon could hear the hearts of northern men break as she bowed her head towards his uncle and aunt. "I can only echo my niece's gratitude in allowing us into your home." 

"It is merely our duty, your grace," His uncle said. "On behalf of my wife, my children and myself, I would like to thank you as well."

Daenerys looked puzzled, "What for, my lord?"

"For writing to my nephew for all this time. We took notice of all the ravens addressed in your name that came to him. You and Prince Aegon were one of the few people in the south that cared for his well-being. Even though duty did not obligate you, you still were attentive in making sure Jon still have a connection to the south. You helped fill a void that was empty. You have our gratitude for this."

Rhaenys looked abashed, and Jon did not even have to look to know that his father was displeased. His uncle's words had not exactly been subtle, though Jon doubted that Lord Eddard cared.

 _They shouldn't feel this way. They should know what they did wrong. My uncle is speaking truly._  

Any awkward silence that might have filled the courtyard was displaced by Daenerys' deepening smile. "There is not need to thank me for that. Even if Jon had been sent to Highgarden or even Dragonstone, I would have sent letters," It was then that she looked firmly at him. "He is family, after all, and what are we if we do not account for our family?"

"That is true, your grace. However, some people - no matter how noble their intentions - seem to forget their obligations to their family, and how their forsaking of this duty will impact their family." His uncle told her. 

That might have gone too far. Barristan awkwardly shifted on his feet, and Oswell Whent stifled a groan. Jon dared then to look at his father, who was frowning intently at Lord Stark. Ser Arthur had grown pale, and the Queen did not look too pleased either. 

It was Aegon who fortunately broke the ice. "Sister, aunt. You should introduce yourself to Jon's cousins. Especially this spirited young one here," He pointed towards Arya, who was looking confusingly between the King and her father. "If you ask nicely, she will even allow you to pet her wolf. She's named after our ancestor, Rhae. Nymeria."

Rhaenys looked at Arya with a sudden interest, "Is she now? I am surprised a woman of the north would care for a Dornish tale as bold and true as Nymeria the Rhoynar Queen."

"We northerners are full of surprises, my princess. No matter our size and shape." Robb said in a low voice.

Rhaenys regarded the heir to Winterfell with a sly smile, "Yes. I suppose you are indeed." 

"Yes, that would be best," King Rhaegar commented of Aegon's idea, nodding slowly. "However, now that we arrived at Winterfell and have all assembled, there is something I must ask of Lord Stark."

His father looked evenly at his uncle. "I would like to be taken to the crypts of Winterfell. I would wish to pay my respects to my late wife."

Jon raised his brow. A part of him felt a swell of happiness that his father had not forsaken his mother's memory. At least he had not disappointed him in this regard. He was however surprised by how quickly his father had asked of his uncle this request. He would have thougt once everyone from the south had settled in the castle...

It seemed the Queen also shared Jon's surprise as well. "My love, it has been a long journey. You are surely tired from the ride as we all are.  Lord Stark can escort you underneath the castle once you have slept and been fed with a proper meal. Surely the dead can wait?"

"No," His father said firmly, surprising Jon even further. "Beg pardon, my queen, but I have waited fifteen years to pay my respects. To not only Lyanna, but to her father and brother as well. My patience wears thin."

The Queen continued to protest, citing many other reasons why Rhaegar should wait, and was met by the cold face of his father. Ser Jaime Lannister stepped forward and took her quietly by the arm. "Sister, do not question His Grace. He may do as he wish."

Queen Cersei protested no further after that.

"Of course, your grace," Lord Stark said after Cersei stopped speaking.  "If you would like, we can leave now and I can have my steward and servants escort your family to their accommodations. I am sure my wife and children would be more than pleased to attend to your wife and children as we-"

"No." The King interjected. 

Eddard Stark's face darkened at the interruption. "I am sorry, your grace?"

"I thank you for your offer to take me to Lyanna's tomb, my lord Stark, but it is not you who I wish to accompany me," It was then Rhaegar looked at Jon. "I would like Jon to escort me to his mother."

It looked like the entire castle had shifted their attention towards him when his father finished speaking. He felt their stares gore into him like a hunting spear through a wild lizard-lion. It sent a shiver down his spine.

His uncle seemed unsure, "Your Grace, I am sure Jon wishes to acquaint himself with siblings and aunt after all this time apart. Surely it would be more prudent to give him-"

"No, uncle, it is fine," Jon felt bad for interrupting his uncle like this, but he knew his father would be stubborn in his insistence, as would his uncle in his. He did not want there to be any trouble."I have the rest of the evening to speak with my siblings and aunt. I would be more than happy to take His Grace to where my mother lies to rest."

"Thank you, Jon." His father said.

Jon wasn't looking at him. He was waiting for what his uncle would say. To Jon, that was all that truly mattered. Lord Eddard gazed at him thoughtfully, his grey eyes softening like fog. 

"If that is what his grace wishes." His uncle's acquiesced, nodding slowly. 

Jon did not consider him foolish to suspect that his uncle had not been addressing his father in his response. 

"When my family is ready, my lord Stark, I would like for them to be shown to their chambers."

"Of course, your grace. It would be the pleasure of our family and our household to do so." Lady Catelyn said, beckoning forward Vayon Poole, who was preparing his stewards to move the royal family's belongings to the Guest House.

"I give you my thanks, Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard." His father then turned to the direction of his assembled Kingsguard. "Kenneth, I would like you to accompany Aegon when he is ready to leave the courtyard. Arthur and Barristan will be coming with Jon and I when we take our own leave in a moment."

"Of course, your highness." The dark-haired, unsmiling white-cloaked knight replied.

 _So that is Ser Kenneth. He looks quite stern for such a young man._ Jon thought as he glanced over at the knight. _Perhaps it is for the best. Being Kingsguard is a serious responsibility that cannot be taken lightly._

The King then looked between where Aegon and his other children stood. "Aegon, Rhaenys, Visenya, Aenar, I want all four of you to be on your best behaviour. We are guests of Lord Stark and his family. Be cordial with his children, and if they wish to ask something of you, do not frown away."

"Yes, father." Visenya and Aenar said in unison. 

Rhaenys said the same in a lowered voice, her dark eyes searching the castle grounds, and Aegon nodded at his father's way solemnly. 

Jon noticed that he had failed to mention Daenerys in his command. Even though Daenerys was Rhaegar's sister, she was only thirteen and was close to the age of his children. She was practically like their sister or cousin than an aunt. Judging from his aunt's unchanging smile, he assumed that his father's relationship with his sister was close enough that her courtesies did not need to be reminded. 

Jon cast an apologetic glance at Daenerys. She did not express herself visibly, but he suspected that she was disappointed that they had not been given a chance to even speak formally. He knew he was. 

_Well, at least my cousins and the castle itself can entertain her._

As Jon and Barristan moved towards the King, his uncle halted him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he passed.

Jon looked up at his uncle, confused. Lord Eddard Stark leaned forward and neared his mouth to Jon's ear, and whispered in a low voice to him that only his wife, Robb and Barristan could hear, "Jon, no matter what anyone tells you, know that Lyanna would be proud of the man you have become."

Robb and his mother smiled at him, and Jon beamed at his uncle. "I hope so, Lord Stark."

_I truly do._

* * *

The journey to the crypts was a quiet endeavor. As Jon walked alongside his father, with Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur close behind them as well as Ghost at his side, he felt his heart beating even more rapidly in his chest. Neither the King or Jon spoke a word to each other, and to him, it seemed like his father had a determination in his indigo eyes. That more than anything revealed to Jon the truth about his father's intention. He was truly earnest about his desire to visit his mother's resting place. There was no ill intention or ambition to this visit. He was true in his resolve.

Jon could tell, because it was the same determination he had exhibited - that same driven purpose that Lord Stark had noticed and commented to him about - during his own first visit to Lyanna Stark's tomb. His father's genuinity allowed Jon the ability to ignore the coldness that beheld their footsteps. It was a tangible coldness did not exist because of the weather.

 _Say something to him._ Jon told himself as he glanced at his father's blank face from the corner of his grey eyes. _Say anything._

But words failed to reach his lips. Jon did not know what to say to his father. He had spent the last month going over everything that he had wished to talk to the King - all his grievances, all his thanks, all his apprehensions and fears about going south - but he found himself at a loss. 

When they had reached the entrance of the crypts, it was then his father looked to him and said, "I assume this is where...?"

"Yes, your grace." Jon said in reply.

Rhaegar turned to the White-cloaked Knights who had been tailing them protectively, "Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, I would like you both to stand guard outside the entrance while Jon and myself are inside. I do not wish to be disturbed unless it is an important matter."

While Barristan nodded, Arthur Dayne seemed unsure, "My King, is it wise for you to be alone in the crypts without protection? If something where to happen or someone where to attempt to attack you or Prince Jon then -"

"- Arthur, only the bones of the dead and their shades lie within these crypts. Jon and I will be the only human beings amongst the tombs," Rhaegar said. "Besides, even if something wishes to harm us, we have my son's direwolf to protect us."

"I don't see how a wolf pup can protect you both in case there is someone armed with a sword hiding in the crypts, but I adhere to your wishes as always, your grace." The Sword of Morning said.

 _There is no one else living down in those crypts._ Jon thought to himself, _Every day I come and visit, and I have seen no one else._

Except if one of his cousins were trying to scare him. Unsuccessfully.

"Thank you, my friend."

As Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur took their guard, Jon and his direwolf led his father wordlessly. They went down to the crypt together, Jon and this man that he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow, and they descended in complete silence.

For Jon, venturing into the ancient catacombs of Winterfell's deceased was a task he performed every day for almost the past ten years. Even if his mother was dead, the fact that her remains were entombed beneath the ground of the castle had always  given him delight. Even in death, he was able to elicit comfort from her.

Visits had become ritualistic, and these crypts had become an almost second home of rest for him in Winterfell. He still fondly remembered the days when Robb, Arya, Jonos and himself would journey deeper into its halls, searching earnestly for the hidden cache of dragon eggs that was rumoured to have been laid within by Jacaerys Velaryon's dragon during the Dance of Dragons. 

As Jon, Ghost and his father walked past the hard, stone-carved faces of the previous Kings and Lords of Winter, he felt a chill rushing through the crypts, as if a cold breath had been blown through from the earth itself. Jon had grown so accustomed to the coldness by his countless visits that it did not bother him, but even he was surprised by his father's unchanging face. If he was disturbed by the sudden chill, he visibly did not seem mindful of it.

When they finally reached where his grandfather, uncle and mother laid to rest, Jon quietly stayed back as he allowed his father his moment of privacy with Lyanna Stark. He held the oil lantern firmly with his right hand, and laid his other softly o the fur coat of his direwolf.

Unlike Jon whenever he came to visit his mother, his father did not kneel. Instead, he stood quietly before her sculpture. Jon could not see his face from where he stood, but he was sure his father's face had softened, his violet eyes pouring themselves softly over the stonemanship of the statue.

While Jon had only the stone-carved features of his mother to serve his perception of her likeness, his father had known the true, beautiful and fierce she-wolf as his second wife. Jon imagined it was disconcerting to his father that the memory of Lyanna Stark left in these crypts was a mere tomb. Even if their actions had been foolish and had cost the realm, Jon could tell how much his father had loved his mother. 

The silence that befell in the crypts seemed to last years, but Jon remained still as he watched his father. Eddard Stark had been the exact same when he had first led Jon to his mother, giving a five year old Jon the time he had needed to acclimatize himself at his mother's resting place and reflect.

"She was more beautiful than this," His father finally said, breaking the long lapse of silence. "I understand that this is statute, but this does not do her justice. She would never be this still. She was always so lively. So full of life and so bold and earnest. Even at the Tower, she was so restless and relentless, and so loving. It is...it is hard to imagine her made out of stone."

Jon said nothing. What was he supposed to say? He did not even know if his father was talking to him. Anything he did say would sound ingenuous. All he knew about his mother were the stories and descriptions that his uncle had told him, or what he had heard from visiting lords and ladies who had known her. Even Old Nan had told him things about her that had made him chuckle. 

"I was not with her when she died. I had just killed Robert, and my own father was descending further into madness. If it were up to me, your mother would be buried on top of a hill, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean. But she is a Stark of Winterfell. She wanted to be buried here. Her brothers wanted her to be buried in her home. It would have been inappropriate and disrespectful for anything else." His father continued.

 _She is where she belongs. In the North._ Jon agreed. 

His father seemed to linger on her face for a while longer before turning back to face Jon, his eyes sad and melancholic. In his hands was a dried blue rose.

"Was this you, Jon?" The King asked, inspecting the rose carefully, his pale fingers brushing the shrivelled petals. 

Jon nodded. "Yes. Lord Eddard once told me that the scent of winter roses had been her favorite. I visit her resting place every day, but whenever the flower I leave withers out, I replace it with a freshly grown one."

"I can see that," His father gestured towards the pool of dead roses that lay at the base of her tomb. "That is thoughtful of you, Jon. She always loved winter roses. The wreathed crown that I placed on her lamp at Harrenhal had been made out of these flowers as well."

Jon knew this. He had heard this countless times. What Jon also knew was that that action had been a grave slight against Elia Martell, and had one of the many influences that had ignited the civil war. Crowning his mother had been a mistake that had cost the realm near ten thousand lives. 

His father looked at him expressly, his lilac eyes regarding him in contemplation. "Jon, in the courtyard, I did mean what I said: Lord Eddard and his family have raised you well. Even with the few words we have exchanged, I can see that as clear as day. Your mother would be proud of you. I only repeat this because throughout the entire journey north, I was scared."

"Scared?" Jon asked, confused. Below him, he could feel Ghost move protectively around Jon's feet, his red eyes unwavering in their calm gaze towards the King.

"I was scared that you would hate me," His father explained, causing Jon's eyes to widen in surprise. "I am still scared of that. Riding with your half-siblings and bearing witness to the harsh beauty of the northern realm has caused me to reflect on the relationship between yourself and I. You do not have to tell me, Jon. I know I have been a terrible father to you. Sending you to live at Winterfell was not enough. I should have done more. I would understand completely if you held disdain for me. If I was in your position, I might feel the same."

Jon felt his stomach tighten. He had not expected his father to have...he had thought he would be the one confronting his father about his negligence. But here the King was, openly acknowledging what he had done wrong.

"I...father, I do not hate you. I could never truly hate you. I...I thought I knew how I felt, but seeing you in this castle has caused my senses to distort. You sent me to live in Winterfell, and allowed me to stay here for so long. My time in the north was the best thing to have ever happened to me. The Stark's are amazing people. I could never hate you for fostering me here. It is just...I..." Jon trailed off, trying to find the correct words to say.

"You resent me, do you not?" Rhaegar Targaryen guessed, his voice thin. "Daenerys and Aegon sent you letters from the south, yet I did not. They attempted to establish a familial connection, but I did not. Your uncle was blunt, but he was correct -  for all intents and purposes, I ignored you. Arthur and Oswell told me time and time again that I should attempt to engage with you, but I did not listen to their reason. Aegon, Visenya, Aenar, Rhaenys - even Daenerys - had me in some way or the other in the south, but you did not. I ignored you, because I was still so attentive towards my past mistakes and transgressions. I was - I still am - willingly caught in the pitfall of your mother's embrace."

Jon did not know what his father meant by that, but as the lantern light flickered through the dark room, he felt it worth to mention, "I had Lord Eddard. And even Lady Catelyn. They was as much a father and mother to be me as they were to my cousins."

"I am sure they were, but Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn were not the ones to sire you into existence. You were their responsibility, but I am your father," His father rubbed both of his eyes together, and sighed, "There is no point in arguing about this, Jon. I know you have a mixed emotions towards me, and towards this visit. I should have considered that before coming here. All I can do is ask for your forgiveness, and hopefully make things better for you."

Jon raised an eyebrow. "How?" 

He had not meant to sound so direct and informal, but his father did not seem to mind. It was only as his face caught in the glimmer of torchlight that Jon could see how truly drained his father looked. The wounds he had suffered at the Trident were not visible to the naked eye, but if you looked closely near his neck, you could see the dark burgeoning of scars that Robert Baratheon had left as his parting gift of hatred. The years had taken a heftier toll on the King than Jon had realised. 

"I will tell you in good time. Perhaps it will ease the pain of leaving Winterfell, or perhaps it will not. I will not pretend to presume how you feel, Jon. I have not right to that." 

He had thought he had kept himself under control, but Jon still found himself at unease with the prescence of his father and family. He did not truly know if his father was being truly genuine, or if he was saying the things that Jon wanted to hear.

There was still so much that he wishes to say to the man standing in front of him, but he could not shape adequate questions that would fulfill his own desire for closure and comfort.

So instead, he opted for something simpler, "Why have you come to Winterfell, father? It cannot be to just take me back to King's Landing. You could have sent a small escort for that, and had me shipped from White Harbor to the Capitol in a few short weeks. It would have saved the Crown and yourself time and coin."

"Despite what others would tell you otherwise, not every persons actions or words have a double meaning or ulterior motive. I know that that goes against the viewpoint that the north has against the South, but it is the truth," His father said. "However, you were smart to suspect something else in regards to my plans. Yes, I did not come with near three hundred riders to retrieve you from the Stark household. I know I am disliked in the North. I would not wish to overstay my welcome.

"Although I wished for your half-siblings and aunt to see apart of my realm that was unfamiliar and different to what they already knew, I also wish to visit the Wall."

Jon had suspected as much. Time and time again, Lord Commander Jeor Mormont had written to his uncle asking for additional help in restoring the Watch. Whether that be with more men, additional funding, more armour, food and weapons. His uncle tried everything to his power to help, but the Night's Watch had fallen on hard times. It would take more than the power of the Lord of Winterfell to help them survive the coming winter.

"Of course. I assume Lord Commander Mormont has sent you the same letters that he had sent Lord Eddard." Jon said.

"Not just the Lord Commander, but our grand uncle Aemon and your uncle Benjen as well," His father nodded. "So many times ravens and envoys have arrived from Castle Black asking for so much aid in refurbishments and restructuring that it has caused the state of the Watch to become a laughing stock in the city. While previous kings have done what they could to aid the order by sending prisoners and unconditional funds to help, it has not been since Jaehaerys the Wise that a Targaryen King has ventured North. I do not count great-grandfather Aegon as he was a mere squire. I will not have the Night's Watch fall into complete disarray. Not while I am King."

"There have been rumblings of a rising King Beyond the Wall as well. A former Night's Watch turned free folk. Mance Rayder, his name was," Jon told his father. "Apparently he is uniting wildling clans to attempt another invasion of the North."

"That is also another factor of my decision to personally come north," His father said, surprising Jon that the Crown had heard of Rayder already. "Lord Arryn was telling me about this so called King Beyond the Wall. A wildling incursion of this size would destabilise the realm. The North is apart of the Seven Kingdoms, and I will not stand it and its people to be inflicted with raping and murdering folk who think kidnapping and pillaging apart of their customs.

"I have not been able to do as much as I would have liked as King, but if I can help restore the Watch and repel a wildling invasion, then I _will_ count that as a satisfactory contribution to the safety of the Seven Kingdoms."

 _All worthy goals, but will you be able to fulfill all of them?_ Jon was not sure. Although he was Rayder and his ten hundred thousand horde could be defeated, he was unconvinced the Night's Watch could be restored in such a clean and sufficient manner. It would take time and effort, as well as patience and major reformation.

Jon was not naive. He knew the Watch was not as it used to be. His uncle and his uncle had told him so when he had inquired about joining the Watch as a child, disabusing his preconceived assumptions. In order for it to be a speck of what it was once during the Age of Heroes and the Rise of Valyrian, major change was needed.  

"If you are going to Castle Black and inspecting the state of the Night's Watch, let me come with my uncle and yourself," Jon said. "I know these lands better than anyone in your retinue. I've seen the Wall. I am a good swordsman. I can help you -"

"Absolutely not," His father cut him off with the dismissive wave of his hand. "You are only ten-and-four, approaching fifteen years. You are not yet a man, and I doubt you have even held live steel in your hand. If I will not allow Aegon to accompany me further north to the Wall, then I will certainly not take you even with your northern heritage. If someone were to happen, then I will not risk the safety and lives of my two heirs. Not only that, it will ruin my plans for the both of you to fulfill our family legacy."

"But I can help!" Jon exclaimed. "I can serve a purpose with Lord Stark and yourself, even if I engage in little to no fighting. If there is to be fighting with the wildlings, then I could serve in some way in aiding to stop them." 

"I am sure you can serve a purpose, but my answer is still a refusal," His father said firmly. "If you were older and more experienced, then perhaps I would have taken you with me. But now, you should not worry about my planned venture north. Instead, you should focus on your brothers and sisters, and Daenerys. She especially is very excited to speak with you. Practically you, the North and Winterfell were all she was speaking of during the trip."

Jon had wanted to remain persistent on the subject on his father's journey to the Wall, but the mention of Daenerys and his siblings brushed away his notion of stubbornness. His father was right. It had been so long since he had seen them, and apart of him was both apprehensive and ecstatic over the prospect of speaking with them more intimately and informally throughout the coming weeks. 

_Perhaps it would best to leave it at that. I do not want to press a Targaryen King's patience after all, even if he is my father._

"I...I understand." Jon acceded, albeit with some hesitance. 

 "Good. It is better this way. To be honest, I was more than pleased with how the reunion between you and your half-siblings went by. I knew there would be cordial greetings between Aegon and yourself, but I did not fully expect Visenya and Aenar to be as approachable and warm towards you. It seems they - especially Aenar - were more wary of your direwolf than seeing their brother for the first time." His father said, with a small smile.

Jon looked down at Ghost, who had been rubbing his snout against Jon's palm. "They should not be scared. Ghost would never harm them. He may be quiet, sullen and cold at first, but he is affable once he begins to trust someone."

"Just like his master, I am sure."

Before Jon could respond, his father continued by saying, "I hope you get along with then, Jon. They are nothing like their mother. Visenya especially is one of the most brightest and courteous child's I have ever interacted with, and Aenar is just shy and nervous. They were both excited to come to the north, and to see you as well."

"I am sure," Jon privately noted the way in which his father had created a dissonance between Cersei and her children. Did even he see the Lannister pride and arrogance in his third wife? Jon from his brief interaction with her in the courtyard could see a flicker of curtness and greed. He knew of the reputation of House Lannister. Opportunists and ambitious they were, so hungry and obsessed for power and influence. Fear was the philosophy wielded by Tywin Lannister - fear through intimidation and ruthlessness. He now understood what Daenerys complained often about in her letters written to him. 

 _Was it wise for him to marry again? The Lannisters are proud. Even if Aenar does not wish it, we could see another Dance of Dragons occurring once father passes._ Jon thought as he watched his father glance back at his mother's statue.

"Besides them, there are others that I am sure will catch your interest. My daughters and sister's attendants, Lucas, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Loras and his sister Margaery Tyrell. That one is very clever for a girl her age. I almost thought of betrothing her to Aegon. Tyrion came here with us as well, wherever in gods name my wife's little brother he is right now. Probably stuffing himself in some brothel in wintertown, I am sure."

 _Loras and Margaery Tyrell? Here in Winterfell?_ Jon thought to himself. So that was who they were. Jon had suspected they were brother and sister, and he felt pleased that he had been right. It was then he realized what else his father had said.  _And Tyrion Lannister is here after all. The sons and daughter of two of the most powerful vassals of the Iron Throne. The North is very far from both the Reach and the Westerlands. I wonder what southerners like them are doing here._

"I assume they are all apart of the court as well?" Jon asked.

"Well, except for Tyrion, yes. Margaery Tyrell has been serving as a lady-in-waiting to Rhaenys for near six months, and Loras is a knighted companion of Aegon. Theon of course is our ward, and Lucas still remains in King's Landing. Why, I do not know. I was going to bring Jon Arryn's son Ronnel with me as well, but his mother was quite insistent that he remain in King's Landing."

"Why?" Jon knew of Ronnel Arryn. He was the firstborn son of Lord Jon, and the first child with his wife that had survived infancy. His aunt and uncle had been relived when Lord Arryn had sent them a raven informing them that their child was not stillborn or sickly. "I am sure a boy of his age would have appreciated the sights of the north."

"I do not know. Apparently she was worried he would catch a fever in the cold weather chill. I do not know what runs through that woman. I tolerate her only because Jon Arryn is a capable Hand, and a good man." His father said.

Rhaegar Targaryen brushed the cheek of the statue's stone face gently, as if it was made of living flesh before saying, "I know, Jon, there is still so much to discuss between us. But right now, I would like a moment of silence. I have not finished paying my respects to your mother. After that, you can ask as many questions as you wish. I may have answers for them as well."

Having wanted to say more, Jon held his tongue and nodded. "Of course. Ghost and I will just wait by the stairs until you are ready to leave, your grace."

"Thank you, my son."

As his father went back to staring at his mother's tomb, Jon took several steps with Ghost with the lantern still held in his hand. However, as he began walking away from his father's motionless figure, he stopped in his tracks. Ghost looked up at him curiously, and Jon cracked his knuckles. A question that had been gnawing at him ever since he had learnt of his father's impending visit had resurfaced in his mind. It was a question that only his father could answer, and Jon's patience was wavering. 

Jon turned back towards his father, and called softly, "Your Grace, if I may ask? Why now?"

His father frowned as he looked towards Jon, his hand remaining on the face of Lyanna Stark's statute. "What do you mean? You know why."

"No, I mean why are you taking me back south now?" Jon asked, meeting his father's melancholic gaze. "Lord Stark was sure that you would wait until I had turned ten-and-sixteen before calling me back south. Even with your visit north, I was surprised that you wanted me to come back with the party. I mean, Robb is to be married in a year's time, and I am sure you will be busy arranging Aegon's, Rhaenys', Daenerys, and even Visenya's marriages and betrothals. And Viserys is going to marry his Dornish Princess in several months as well, 

"I am just wondering - it just seems to be more hassle for you to organise such an entourage to take with you to Winterfell. And then only to go back to King's Landing with Ser Barristan and myself. I am just...curious."

 _Curious enough to impede upon his time with my mother._ Jon berated himself almost immediately when the words flowed from his mouth. He should have just left it be and moved on. As he said, there was time to questions later.

"I'm sorry. I should not have said anything. I'll just..." Jon went to leave, but he noticed his father look at him with a fixated stare. 

"No, it is a fair question. Perhaps I should have told you earlier," His father said, his voice stopping Jon once more. "First of all, I did not know your cousin was to be married so soon. If I had, I would have waited to call you back. You can still attend his wedding if you would like."

 _Of course I would like too. He is my closest friend. And family._  

"And perhaps...he will be attending your  _own_ wedding as well."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate it when you accidentally click refresh on your page before you save. It really hurts the writing process.
> 
> I like reading comments :). Better than kudos in my opinion.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Review away. Be as kind or as harsh as you want depending on if you liked it or not. . 
> 
> If you have any questions on this story's alternate history or characters or pairings - and if you have some reasonable requests (not changing any pairings) - leave them in the comments. I'll probably get next chapter up next week or the week after (RL is hectic). Thanks for reading.


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